Anderson was the scout.  He rode up on a foam-lashed mustang, and got off, dark and grimy with dust.  His report was that he had been unable to get in touch with any soldiers or laborers along the line, but he had seen enough with his own eyes.  Half-way between the camp and Benton a large force of Sioux had torn up the track, halted and fired the work-train.  A desperate battle was being fought, with the odds against the workmen, for the reason that the train of box-cars was burning.  Troops must be rushed to the rescue.

Colonel Dillon sent a trooper with orders to saddle the horses.

This sent a cold chill through Neale.  “General, if the Sioux rounded us up here in this camp we’d be hard put to it,” he said, forcibly.

“Right you are, Neale.  The high slopes, rocks, and trees would afford cover.  Whoever picked out this location for a camp wasn’t thinking of Indians ...  But we need scarcely expect an attack here.”

“Suppose we get the women away—­to the hills,” suggested Neale.

Anderson shook his head.  “They might be worse off.  Here you’ve shelter, water, food, and men coming.  That’s a big force of Sioux.  They’ll have lookouts on all the hills.”

It was decided to leave a detachment of soldiers under Lieutenant Brady, who was to remain in camp until the arrival of the graders, and then follow hard on Colonel Dillon’s trail.

Besides Allie Lee there were five other women in camp, and they all came out to see the troops ride away.  Neale heard Colonel Dillon assure his wife that he did not think there was any danger.  But the color failed to return to her face.  The other women, excepting Allie, were plainly frightened.  Neale found new pride in Allie.  She showed little fear of the Sioux.

General Lodge rode beside Colonel Dillon at the head of the troops.  They left camp on a trot, raising a cloud of dust, and quickly disappeared round the curve of the hill.  The troopers who were left behind stacked their guns and sallied out after railroad ties with which to build defenses.  Anderson, the scout, rode up the slope to a secluded point from which he was to keep watch.  The women were instructed to stay inside the log cabin that adjoined the flimsy quarters of the engineers.  Baxter, with his assistants, overhauled the guns and ammunition left; and Neale gathered up all the maps and plans and drawings and put them in a bag close at hand.

Time passed swiftly, and in another half-hour the graders began to arrive.  They came riding in bareback, sometimes two on one horse, flourishing their guns—­a hundred or more red-faced Irishmen spoiling for a fight.  Their advent eased Neale’s dread.  Still, a strange feeling weighed upon him and he could not understand it or shake it.  He had no optimism for the moment.  He judged it to be over-emotion, a selfish and rather exaggerated fear for Allie’s safety.

Lieutenant Brady then departed with his soldiers, leaving the noisy laborers to carry ties and erect bulwarks.  The Irish, as ever, growled and voiced their complaints at finding work instead of fighting.