“That’s so, sir,” exclaimed Corporal Frank, addressing me.  “We never sent her to anybody but you, the sergeant, and the cook.”

“True enough.  I’ll have to send her to the cook—­the only one now in camp to whom she has borne messages.  As he is the dispenser of fine bones and dainties, and she has had nothing to eat since morning, perhaps it is as well he is to receive this message.  Here, Vic,” placing the chip once more in her mouth, “take this stick to the cook—­go!”

The setter looked at me an instant, then at the sergeant and corporal, walked to the door, looked out, and then glanced questioningly at me.

“Yes, little one; the cook—­go!”

She bounded through the doorway and turned the corner of the butte at a run, bearing our summons to our comrades at Los Valles Grandes.

For some time after the departure of Vic the sergeant and I stood at our windows and gloomily watched the darkness deepen in the woods.  Frank looked out of the window above the spring and was also silent.  I was disposed to put off the lighting of our fire upon the roof as long as it appeared safe to do so, in order to husband our fuel.  The animals, disappointed of the forage usually furnished them at this hour, stamped impatiently and nosed disdainfully the stale straw and pine plumes which we had emptied from the bunks and which were now scattered over the floor.

It was during a momentary lull of this continuous noise that I heard a crushing sound as of a heavy wheel rolling over twigs and gravel, but was unable to guess its meaning.

Fearing that further delay to light our fire might bring disaster upon us, I told Corporal Frank to kindle it.  He ascended the chimney, lighted a few splinters of pitch-pine and placed them upon the roof, and as soon as they were well lighted added to them half a dozen billets of wood which Sergeant Cunningham passed up to him.  Soon a brilliant blaze was leaping upward, and, being reflected strongly by the white sandstone of the overhanging cliff, lighted the whole space about the cabin.

As soon as Frank descended to the floor we gazed long and anxiously out of the windows.  Everything about us was now plainly visible to our eyes, and we felt sure our movements could not be seen by the Navajos.  To the east all was silent, and for a long while we saw nothing in that direction to suggest a lurking foe.  To the west we could see no enemy, but the same mysterious sound of crushing and grinding came to our ears.  What could it be, and what did it threaten?  Adjusting my field-glass I looked from my window in the direction of the puzzling sound, and on the farther edge of the opening, near the wood, saw a log about three feet in diameter and twenty-five or more in length slowly rolling towards us, propelled by some unseen force.

Passing the glass to the sergeant, I said:  “The Indians seem to be rolling a log in our direction.  What do you think of it?”