dismally.

Day broke cold, wan, threatening, under a leaden sky. The hunters
traveled thirty miles by noon, and halted in a hollow where a
stream flowed in wet season. Cottonwood trees were bursting into
green; thickets of prickly thorn, dense and matted, showed bright
spring buds.

"What is it?" suddenly whispered Rude.

The plainsman lay in strained posture, his ear against the
ground.

"Hide the wagon and horses in the clump of cottonwoods," he
ordered, tersely. Springing to his feet, he ran to the top of the
knoll above the hollow, where he again placed his ear to the
ground.

Jones's practiced ear had detected the quavering rumble of
far-away, thundering hoofs. He searched the wide waste of plain
with his powerful glass. To the southwest, miles distant, a cloud
of dust mushroomed skyward. "Not buffalo," he muttered, "maybe
wild horses." He watched and waited. The yellow cloud rolled
forward, enlarging, spreading out, and drove before it a darkly
indistinct, moving mass. As soon as he had one good look at this
he ran back to his comrades.

"Stampede! Wild horses! Indians! Look to your rifles and hide!"

Wordless and pale, the men examined their Sharps, and made ready