What do you make of those reds?"

The three men stared for some time at the distant group over their
rifles, in silence.

"They ain't all Arapahoes, that 's certain," said Moylan at last.
"Some of 'em are Cheyennes. I 've seen that chief before--it's Roman
Nose."

"The big buck humped up on the roan?"

"That's the one, and he is a bad actor; saw him once over at Fort
Kearney two years ago. Had a council there. Say!" in surprise, "ain't
that an Ogalla Sioux war bonnet bobbin' there to the right, Sergeant?"

Hamlin studied the distant feathered head-dress indicated, shading his
eyes with one hand.

"I reckon maybe it is, Moylan," he acknowledged at last gravely.
"Those fellows have evidently got together; we're going to have the
biggest scrap this summer the old army has had yet. Looks as though it
was going to begin right here--and now. See there! The dance is on,
boys; there they come; they will try it on foot this time."

He tested his rifle, resting one knee on the seat; Moylan pushed the
barrel of his Winchester out through the ragged hole in the back of the
coach, and the little Mexican lay flat, his eyes on the level with the
window-casing. The girl alone remained motionless, crouched on the
floor, her white face uplifted.