with only one trooper along--Hamlin here--and he was a 'rookie,' to
follow up what looked like a fresh trail. Two hours later they rode
slap into a war party, and the fracas was on. Dugan got a ball through
the body at the first fire that paralyzed him. He was conscious, but
could n't move. The rest was up to Hamlin. You ought to have heard
Dugan tell it when he got so he could speak. Hamlin dragged the boy
down into a buffalo wallow, shot both horses, and got behind them. It
was all done in the jerk of a lamb's tall. They had two Henry rifles,
and the 'rookie' kept them both hot. He got some of the bucks, too,
but of course, we never knew how many. There were twenty in the party,
and they charged twice, riding their ponies almost to the edge of the
wallow, but Hamlin had fourteen shots without reloading, and they could
n't quite make it. Dugan said there were nine dead ponies within a
radius of thirty feet. Anyhow it was five hours before 'D' troop came
up, and that's what they found when they got there--Dugan laid out, as
good as dead, and Hamlin shot twice, and only ten cartridges left.
Hell," he added disgustedly, "and you never even heard of it east of
the Missouri."

There was a flush of color on the Sergeant's cheeks, but he never moved.

"There was nothing else to do but what I did," he explained simply.
"Any of the fellows would have done the same if they had been up
against it the way I was. May I ask," his eyes first upon one and then
the other inquiringly, "what it was you wanted of me?"

McDonald drew a long breath.

"Certainly, Sergeant, sit down--yes, take that chair."