“Judgin’ the lay of land is my job,” he said, in his cool way.  “We’ll git down heah or not at all.”

Neale was sore, lame, and angry as well.  He kept gazing across at the Sioux.  “Let’s stop—­and fight,” he panted.  “We can—­whip—­that bunch.”

“We may have to fight, but not yet,” replied the chief.  “Come on.”

They scrambled on over rocky places, up and down steep banks.  Here and there were stretches where it was possible to ride, and over these they made better time.  The Indians fell out of sight under the side of the ridge, and this fact was disquieting, for no one could tell how soon they would show up again or in what quarter.  This spurred the men to sterner efforts.

Meanwhile the sun was setting and the predicament of the engineers grew more serious.  A shout from Neale, who held up the rear, warned all that the Indians had scaled the ridge behind them and now were in straightaway pursuit.  Thereupon General Lodge ordered his men to face about with rifles ready.  This move checked the Sioux.  They halted out of range.

“They’re waitin’ fer dark to set in,” said the scout.

“Come on!  We’ll get away yet,” said the chief, grimly.  They went on, and darkness began to fall about them.  This increased both the difficulty and the danger.  On the other hand, it enabled them to try and signal the troops with fire.  One of them would hurry ahead and build a fire while the others held back to check the Indians if they appeared.  And at length their signals were answered by the troops.  Thus encouraged, the little band of desperate men plunged on down the slope.  And just when night set in black—­the fateful hour that would have precipitated the Indian attack—­the troops met the engineers on the slope.  The Indians faded away into the gloom without firing a shot.  There was a general rejoicing.  Neale, however, complained that he would rather have fought them.

“Wal, I shore was achin’ fer trouble,” drawled his faithful ally, King.

The flagman, Casey, removed his black pipe to remark, “All thet cloimb without a foight’”

General Lodge’s first word to Colonel Dillon was evidently inspired by Casey’s remark.

“Colonel, did you have steep work getting up to us?”

“Yes, indeed, straight up out of the valley,” was the rejoinder.

But General Lodge did not go back to camp by this short cut down the valley.  He kept along the ridge, and it led for miles slowly down to the plain.  There in the starlight he faced his assistants with singular fire and earnestness.

“Men, we’ve had a bad scare and a hard jaunt, but we’ve found our pass over the Wyoming hills.  To-morrow we’ll run a line up that long ridge.  We’ll name it Sherman Pass....  Thanks to those red devils!”

On the following morning Neale was awakened from a heavy, dreamless sleep by a hard dig in the ribs.

“Neale—­air you daid?” Larry was saying.  “Wake up!  An’ listen to thet.”