There was a long breathing spell, which the trio improved by
strengthening their defense, digging up the dirt with their knives
and piling it upon the mules. It was tedious work, but preferable to
inactivity and cramped quarters.

Two hours went by, and the plan of the enemy was disclosed. A light
breeze arose, and the Indians fired the prairie. Luckily the grass
near the trail was short, and though the heat was intense and the smoke
stifling, the barricade held off the flame. Simpson had kept a close
watch, and presently gave the order to fire. A volley went through
the smoke and blaze, and the yell that followed proved that it was
not wasted. This last ruse failing, the Indians settled down to their
favorite game--waiting.

A thin line of them circled out of range; ponies were picketed and tents
pitched; night fell, and the stars shot out.

As Woods was wounded, he was excused from guard duty, Will and Simpson
keeping watch in turn. Will took the first vigil, and, tired though he
was, experienced no difficulty in keeping awake, but he went soundly to
sleep the moment he was relieved. He was wakened by a dream that Turk
was barking to him, and vaguely alarmed, he sat up to find Simpson
sleeping across his rifle.

The midnight hush was unbroken, and the darkness lay thick upon the
plain, but shapes blacker than night hovered near, and Will laid his
hand on Simpson's shoulder.

The latter was instantly alive, and Woods was wakened. A faint click
went away on the night breeze, and a moment later three jets of flame