The chief with his men rode on and up farther than usual; farther than they ought to have gone unattended.  Once the scout halted and gazed intently across the valley.

“Smoke signals over thar,” he said.

The engineers looked long, but none of them saw any smoke.  They moved on.  But the scout called them back.

“Thet bunch of redskins has split on us.  Fust thing we’ll run into some of them.”

It was Neale’s hawk eye that first sighted Indians.  “Look!  Look!” he cried, in great excitement, as he pointed with shaking finger.

Down a grassy slope of a ridge Indians were riding, evidently to head off the engineers, to get between them and the troops.

“Wal, we’re in fer it now,” declared the scout.  “We can’t get back the way we come up.”

The chief gazed coolly at the Indians and then at the long ridge sloping away from the summit.  He had been in tight places before.

“Ride!” was his order.

“Let’s fight!” cried Neale.

The band of eight men were well armed and well mounted, and if imperative, could have held off the Sioux for a time.  But General Lodge and the scout headed across a little valley and up a higher ridge, from which they expected to sight the troops.  They rode hard and climbed fast, but it took a quarter of an hour to gain the ridge-top.  Sure enough the troops were in sight, but far away, and the Sioux were cutting across to get in front.

It was a time for quick judgment.  The scout said they could not ride down over the ridge, and the chief decided they must follow along it.  The going got to be hard and rough.  One by one the men dismounted to lead their horses.  Neale, who rode a mettlesome bay, could scarcely keep up.

“Take mine,” called Larry King, as he turned to Neale.

“Red, I’ll handle this stupid beast or—­”

“Wal, you ain’t handlin’ him,” interrupted King.  “Hosses is my job, you know.”

Red took the bridle from Neale and in one moment the balky horse recognized a master arm.

“By Heaven! we’ve got to hurry!” called Neale.

It did seem that the Indians would head them off.  Neale and King labored over the rocky ground as best they could, and by dint of hard effort came up with their party.  The Indians were quartering the other ridge, riding as if on level ground.  The going grew rougher.  Baxter’s horse slipped and lamed his right fore leg.  Henney’s saddle turned, and more valuable time was lost.  All the men drew their rifles.  At every dip of ground they expected to come to a break that would make a stand inevitable.

From one point on the ridge they had a good view of the troops.

“Signal!” ordered the chief.

They yelled and shot and waved hats and scarfs.  No use—­the soldiers kept moving on at a snail pace far below.

“On—­down the ridge!” was the order.

“Wal, General, thet looks bad to me,” objected the scout.  Red King shoved his lean, brown hand between them.  There was a flame in his flashing, blue glance as it swept the slowly descending ridge.