with painted faces and naked bedaubed bodies poured down against the corral.  In an instant the chains and ropes holding the stock were severed, and our mules and oxen and ponies stampeded wildly.  By some adroit movement they were herded over the low bank, and a cloud of dust hid the entire battleground as the animals, mad with fright and goaded by arrows, tossed against one another, stumbled blindly until they had cleared the ridge.  A shriek of savage glee and the thunder of hoofs on the hard earth told how well the thing had been done and how furiously our animals were being whirled away.

“Go, get ’em, Gail!  Stay by ’em!  Run!”

Jondo’s voice sounded far away, but my work was near.  With a dozen bull-whackers I made a dash out of the draw and, circling wide, we rode like demons to outflank the cloud of dust that hid our precious property.  On we swept, fleet and sure, in a mad burst of speed to save our own.  We were gaining now, and turning the cloud toward the river.  Another spurt, and we would have them checked, faced about, subdued.  I saw the end, and as the boys swung forward I urged them on.

“To the river.  To the river.  Head ’em south!” I cried.

And Rex Krane, like a centaur, swirled by me to do the thing I ordered.  Behind me rode Beverly Clarenden bareheaded, his face aglow with power.  As I looked back the dust engulfed him for a moment, and then I heard an arrow sing, and a sharp cry of pain.  The dust had lifted and Beverly and a huge Indian, the tallest I have ever seen, were grappling together, a scalping-knife gleaming in the morning light.  I dashed forward and felled the savage with the butt of my revolver.  He leaped to his feet and sprang at me just as Beverly, with unerring aim, sent a blaze of fire between us.  As the savage fell again, my cousin seized his pony; and with an arrow still swinging to his arm, dashed into the chase, and left it only when the stock, with the loss of less than a fourth, was driven up the river’s sandy bank and over the swell into the camp inclosure.

Meantime, Jondo at the front of his men charged into the very center of the savage battle-line as, furious for blood, they threshed across the narrow draw—­the disciplined arm and courageous heart against a blood-thirsty foe.  A charge, a falling back, another surge to win the lost ground, a steady holding on and sure advance, and then Jondo, with one triumphant shout of victory, struck the last fierce blow that sent the Kiowas into full flight toward the northwest, and the day was won.

Out by the river, a sudden dullness seized me.  I lifted my eyes to see Beverly free and Rex directing the charge; cattle, mules, and ponies turned back toward safety, and something crawling and writhing about my feet; Jondo’s great shout of victory far away, it seemed, miles and miles to the north; a cloud of dust sweeping toward me; the crimson east aflame like the Day of judgment; the dust cloud rolling nearer; the yellow sands and slow-moving waters of the Arkansas; and six silent stalwart Kiowa braves, with snaky black eyes, looking steadily at me.  Shadows, and the dust cloud upon me.  Then all was night.