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That boy certainly was cool and brave and sharp-sighted. Dave was proud of him; for Dave, also, was white, and a boy.

So the afternoon wore away. Evening neared. The sun, a large red ball, sank into the flat plains. A beautiful golden twilight spread abroad, tinging the sod and the sky. The world seemed all peaceful; but here in the midst of the twilight were waiting and watching the painted Cheyennes, as eager as ever to get at those three persons in the mule fort. This twilight, Dave imagined, must be a very serious moment for the fort. The twilight warned that night was at hand.

Dusk settled, and deepened into darkness. The Sioux made no camp-fires. Davy wrapped himself in an old buffalo-robe, and guarded by the two squaws, one on either side of him, tried not to sleep. As he listened, while he gazed up at the million stars, and the plains breeze fanned across his face, he wondered what the boy in the mule fort was doing. No doubt he was listening, too, and wishing that the stars would come down and help, or else send a message to those freight wagons which were travelling on.