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.”
Neale heard the clear, ringing notes of a bugle-call. He rolled out of his blankets. “What’s up, Red?” he cried, reaching for his boots.
“Wal, I reckon them Injuns,” drawled Red.
It was just daylight. They found the camp astir—troopers running for horses, saddles, guns.