The horse-thieves sat up on their ponies, and the long, tremulous notes
of the war-whoop were faintly borne on the wind to the camp of the
Yellow-Eyes. Looking out across the plains, they saw the herd break into
a wild stampede, while behind them sped the Bat and Red Arrow, waving
long-lashed whips, to the ends of which were suspended blown-up
buffalo-bladders, which struck the hard ground with sharp, explosive
thumps, rebounding and striking again. The horses were terrorized, but,
being worn down, could not draw away from the swift and supple
war-steeds. There were more than two hundred beasts, and the white men
were practically afoot.

Many riders joined the pursuit; a few lame horses fell out of the herd
and out of the race--but it could have only one ending with the long
start. Mile by mile the darkness was coming on, so that when they could
no longer see, the white pursuers could hear the beat of hoofs, until
that, too, passed--and their horses were gone.

That night there was gloom and dejection around the camp-fires inside
the ring of carts. Some recalled the boy on the war-pony with the
leveled bow; some even whispered that Mr. McIntish had lied to the
boy, but no one dared say that out loud. The factor stormed and damned,
but finally gathered what men he could mount and prepared to follow next
day.

Follow he did, but the buffalo had stamped out the trail, and at last,
baffled and made to go slow by the blinded sign, he gave up the trail,
to hunt for the Chis-chis-chash village, where he would try for justice
at the hands of the head men.

After seven days' journey he struck the carcasses left in the line of