"He's a buck--he ain't no squaw; he tried to creep on me with a knife.
I'm going to kill him," shouted the excited Bordeson.

"No, no, don't kill him. Otto, don't you kill him," expostulated
Johnson, as the Swede's finger clutched nervously at the trigger, and
turning, he roared, "Throw away that knife, you d------Indian!"

The detachment now came charging in through the snow, and gathered
around excitedly. A late arrival came up, breathing heavily, dropped his
gun, and springing up and down, yelled, "Be jabbers, I have got among om
at last!" A general laugh went up, and the circle of men broke into a
straggling line for the return. The sergeant took the little girl up in
his arms. She grabbed him fiercely by the throat like a wild-cat,
screaming. While nearly choking, he yet tried to mollify her, while her
mother, seeing no harm was intended, pacified her in the soft gutturals
of the race. She relaxed her grip, and the brave Virginian packed her
down the mountain, wrapped in his soldier cloak. The horses were reached
in time, and the prisoners put on double behind the soldiers, who fed
them crackers as they marched. At two o'clock in the morning the little
command rode into Fort Robinson and dismounted at the guardhouse. The
little girl, who was asleep and half frozen in Johnson's overcoat, would
not go to her mother: poor little cat, she had found a nest. The
sergeant took her into the guard-house, where it was warm. She soon fell
asleep, and slowly he undid her, delivering her to her mother. On the
following morning he came early to the guard-house, loaded with trifles
for his little Indian girl. He had expended all his credit at the
post-trader's, but he could carry sentiment no further, for "To horse!"
was sounding, and he joined the Orphan Troop to again ride on the
Dull-Knife trail. The brave Cheyennes were running through the frosty
hills, and the cavalry horses pressed hotly after. For ten days the