“Sioux, I bet yuh!” rapped the corporal. “Robbed a graders’ camp. I see more of the beggars, too—those hills are full of ’em. But look at those Pawnees! Never think of the wagon train, they don’t. Plumb left it, set on getting scalps. It’s corralling. Squad, ’tenshun! For’d, march! Trot! Gallop! We’d better get there while we can, boys.”
Away they dashed. The train had corralled, in a complete circle of wagons, wheel to wheel and the teams turned inside. The ground there was rough and rocky, among rises. “Granite Canyon” it was called, after the railroad grade had been blasted through.
The Pawnees were still scurrying; the Sioux had defiantly paused, as though to give battle. If while they fought, the other Sioux came down—well, there’d be considerable trouble.
“They’ll not cut us off, now,” declared Corporal Williams. “They’re a little too leary.”
And with horses blowing the squad tore in, to the corralled train.
“This way! Here’s a hole for you.” They were inside.
“Glad to see you.” It was Major Marshall Hurd himself, the principal engineer assistant to Mr. Reed, superintendent of construction. “What do you think of my Pawnees?”
“They’re keen on a fight, sir. Just show ’em some Sioux, and away they go; but they don’t wait orders,” laughed the corporal.
“Hardly.” And Engineer Hurd smiled grimly. “There were no white officers with this bunch, to hold ’em, and away they went. Now here we are, with a wagon train of powder and provisions, and no guard. Station your men, corporal, where they can help the teamsters. We’ll put up a white man’s fight, and the Pawnees can go hang. Colonel Seymour, you take command of this side of the corral, if you please, and show your Civil War training. I’ll take command of the other side. These boys——”
“Hello!” Colonel Silas Seymour (for it was he, again, evidently on another trip to the Black Hills) addressed Terry. “You’re back, are you? Where did you leave the general?”