“They quarreled back there.  Either the Dogs have Gail, or he’s lost somewhere.  The Kiowas are waiting for something.  I can’t quite understand, but we’ll go on.”

It was mid-afternoon and the two riders were faint from the hardship of the chase, but nobody who knew Jondo ever expected him to give up.  The sun blazed down in the heat of the late afternoon, and the baking earth lay brown and dry beneath the heat-quivering air.  There was no sound nor motion on the plains as the two faithful brothers—­in purpose—­followed hard on the track of the Dog Indian band.

Ahead of them the trail grew clearer until they saw the object of their chase, a band nearly a hundred strong, riding slowly, far ahead.  Jondo and Bill halted and dropped to the ground.  No cover was in sight, but if the Indians were unsuspicious they might not be discovered.  On went the outlaw band, and the two white men followed after.  Suddenly the Indians halted and grouped themselves together.  The plainsmen watched eagerly for the cause.  Out of the south six Indians came riding swiftly into view.  They, too, halted, but neither group seemed aware that the two dull, motionless spots to the west were two white men watching them.  White men didn’t belong there.

The six rode forward.  There was much parleying and pointing eastward.  Then the six rode rapidly northward and the Dog band spurted east as rapidly.

Jondo looked at Bill.

“I see it clear as day.  God help us not to be too late!” he cried, triumphantly, leaping to his saddle.

“What in Heaven’s name to you see?” Bill asked eagerly.

“Gail wasn’t with the Kiowas back there.  He wasn’t with the Dogs out yonder.  Don’t you remember he told us about six of the devils getting him in their friendly camp that morning?  Yonder go the six.  They have left Gail somewhere to die and they are cutting back to join the tribe.  They have sent the Dogs on east.  We’ll run down this trail to the south.  Hurry, Bill!  For God’s sake, hurry!  It’s the Lord’s mercy they didn’t see us back here.”

That day Pawnee Rock saw the same old beauty of sunrise; the same clear sweeping breeze; the same long shining hours on the green prairies; but it all meant nothing to me, racked with pain and choking with thirst through the awful lengths of that summer day.  Fitful unconsciousness, with fever and delirium, seeing mocking faces with snaky black eyes, looking long at me; food almost touching my lips, and floods of crystal waters everywhere just out of reach.  I was on the bluff above the river at Fort Leavenworth again, watching for the fish on the sand-bars.  They were Indians instead of fish, and they laughed at me and called me a big brown bob-cat.  Then Mother Bridget and Aunty Boone would have come to me if I could only make them hear me.  But the sun beat hot upon my burning face, and my swollen lips refused to moan.