Again mingled cries went up from the troopers: "The shack, boys!" "They'll kill them girls!" "God!"
Oliver saw the need. "To the ferry," he commanded.
Like one man, they bounded headlong across the parade, through the red smoke pouring from barracks and stables, and on—only to come short upon a boatless landing, where they crowded upon each other and cursed.
Fraser was half-crazed. Oliver took him forcibly in hand. No man of them all, even if not burdened with a gun, could stem the river's current.
"There's one chance yet," he said, "the night-herd." He turned to his trumpeter. "Sound the recall, and keep a-sounding it!"
Again and again, the familiar strain rang out. All looked northward to where they knew the herd had been, to where the long curves of the prairie-fire were still moving.
But the minutes went, and there was no answering beat of hoofs. Where were the herders? Why did they not obey?
Again—again—and again!
Then, to the south, a reply! Above the spiteful crackling of the tindery buildings, out of the thinning dark, came a clear, eager neigh!
That way the troopers rushed. Gathering at the flagstaff they saw, by the light of the burning piles, a single horse come galloping toward them from the direction of the stockade. Her dun neck was arched like a charger's. As she swung proudly into an imaginary line, the men greeted her with a cheer.