“Horn, I reckon you ’pear more set up about Injuns than usual,” remarked Jones.

“Fresh Sioux track right out thar along the brook.”

“No!”

“Sioux!” exclaimed another.

“Go an’ look fer yourself.”

Not a man of them moved a step.  Horn snorted his disdain and without more talk began to dress the deer.

Meanwhile the sun set behind the ridge and the day seemed far spent.  The evening meal of the travelers was interrupted when Horn suddenly leaped up and reached for his rifle.

“Thet’s no Injun, but I don’t like the looks of how he’s comin’.”

All gazed in the direction in which Horn pointed.  A horse and rider were swiftly approaching down the trail from the west.  Before any of the startled campers recovered from their surprise the horse reached the camp.  The rider hauled up short, but did not dismount.

“Hello!” he called.  The man was not young.  He had piercing gray eyes and long hair.  He wore fringed gray buckskin, and carried a long, heavy, muzzle-loading rifle.

“I’m Slingerland—­trapper in these hyar parts,” he went on, with glance swiftly taking in the group.  “Who’s boss of this caravan?”

“I am—­Bill Horn,” replied the leader, stepping out.

“Thar’s a band of Sioux redskins on your trail.”

Horn lifted his arms high.  The other men uttered exclamations of amaze and dread.  The women were silent.

“Did you see them?” asked Horn.

“Yes, from a ridge back hyar ten miles.  I saw them sneakin’ along the trail an’ I knowed they meant mischief.  I rode along the ridges or I’d been hyar sooner.”

“How many Injuns?”

“I counted fifteen.  They were goin’ along slow.  Like as not they’ve sent word fer more.  There’s a big Sioux camp over hyar in another valley.”

“Are these Sioux on the war-path?”

“I saw dead an’ scalped white men a few days back,” replied Slingerland.

Horn grew as black as a thundercloud, and he cursed the group of pale-faced men who had elected to journey eastward with him.

“You’ll hev to fight,” he ended, brutally, “an’ thet’ll be some satisfaction to me.”

“Horn, there’s soldiers over hyar in camp,” went on Slingerland.  “Do you want me to ride after them?”

“Soldiers!” ejaculated Horn.

“Yes.  They’re with a party of engineers surveyin’ a line fer a railroad.  Reckon I could git them all hyar in time to save you—­if them Sioux keep comin’ slow....  I’ll go or stay hyar with you.”

“Friend, you go—­an’ ride thet hoss!”

“All right.  You hitch up an’ break camp.  Keep goin’ hard down the trail, an’ I’ll fetch the troops an’ head off the redskins.”

“Any use to take to the hills?” queried Horn, sharply.

“I reckon not.  You’ve no hosses.  You’d be tracked down.  Hurry along.  Thet’s best....  An’ say, I see you’ve a young girl hyar.  I can take her up behind me.”