Dusk was closing in when George and the hired man whom Grant had sent with him reached the bluff and tethered their horses where they would be hidden among the trees. This done, George stood still for a few moments, looking about. A dark, cloud-barred sky hung over the prairie, which was fast fading into dimness; the wood looked desolate and forbidding in the dying light. He did not think any one could have seen him and his companion enter it. Then he and the man floundered through the undergrowth until they reached the sloo, where they hid themselves among the grass at some distance from the case, which had not been removed.

There was no moon, and a fresh breeze swept through the wood, waking eerie sounds and sharp rustlings among the trees. Once or twice George started, imagining that somebody was creeping through the bushes behind him, but he was glad of the confused sounds, because they would cover his movements when the time for action came. His companion, a teamster born on the prairie, lay beside him amid the tall harsh grass that swayed to and fro with a curious dry clashing. He broke into a soft laugh when George suddenly raised his head.

"Only a cottontail hustling through the brush. Whoever\'s coming will strike the bluff on the other side," he said. "Night\'s kind of wild; pity it won\'t rain. Crops on light soil are getting badly cut."

George glanced up at the patch of sky above the dark mass of trees. Black and threatening clouds drove across it; but during the past few weeks he had watched them roll up from the west a little after noon almost every day. For a while, they shadowed the prairie, promising the deluge he eagerly longed for; and then, toward evening, they cleared away, and pitiless sunshine once more scorched the plain. Grain grown upon the stiff black loam withstood the drought, but the light soil of the Marston farm was lifted by the wind, and the sharp sand in it abraded the tender stalks. It might cut them through if the dry weather and strong breeze continued; and then the crop which was to cover his first expenses would yield him nothing.

"Yes," he returned moodily. "It looks as if it couldn\'t rain. We ought to go in more for stock-raising; it\'s safer."

"Costs quite a pile to start with, and the ranchers farther west certainly have their troubles. We had a good many calves missing, and now and then prime steers driven off, when I was range-riding."

"I haven\'t heard of any cattle-stealing about here."

"No," said the teamster. "Still, I guess we may come to it; there are more toughs about the settlement than there used to be. Indians have been pretty good, but I\'ve known them make lots of trouble in other districts by killing beasts for meat and picking up stray horses. But that was where they had mean whites willing to trade with them."

George considered this. It had struck him that the morality of the country had not improved since he had last visited it; though this was not surprising in view of the swarm of immigrants that were pouring in. Grant had pithily said that once upon a time the boys had come there to work; but it now looked as if a certain proportion had arrived on the prairie because nobody could tolerate them at home. Flett and the Methodist preacher seemed convinced that there were a number of these undesirables hanging about Sage Butte, ready for mischief.

"Well," he said, "I suppose the first thing to be done is to stop this liquor-running."

They had no further conversation for another hour. The poplars rustled behind them and the grass rippled and clashed, but now and then the breeze died away for a few moments, and there was a curious and almost disconcerting stillness. At last, in one of these intervals, the Canadian, partly rising, lifted his hand.

"Listen!" he said. "Guess I hear a team."

A low rhythmic drumming that suggested the beat of hoofs rose from the waste, but it was lost as the branches rattled and the long grass swayed noisily before a rush of breeze. George thought the sound had come from somewhere half a mile away.

"If they\'re Indians, would they bring a wagon?" he asked.

"It\'s quite likely. Some of the bucks keep smart teams; they do a little rough farming on the reservation. It would look as if they were going for sloo hay, if anybody saw them."

George waited in silence, wishing he could hear the thud of hoofs again. It was slightly daunting to lie still and wonder where the men were. It is never very dark in summer on the western prairie, and George could see across the sloo, but there was no movement that the wind would not account for among the black trees that shut it in. Several minutes passed, and George looked around again with strained attention.

Suddenly a dim figure emerged from the gloom. Another followed it, but they made no sound that could be heard through the rustle of the leaves, and George felt his heart beat and his nerves tingle as he watched them flit, half seen, through the grass. Then one of the shadowy objects stooped, lifting something, and they went back as noiselessly as they had come. In a few more moments they had vanished, and the branches about them clashed in a rush of wind. It died away, and there was no sound or sign of human presence in all the silent wood. George, glad that the strain was over, was about to rise, but his companion laid a hand on his arm.

"Give \'em time to get clear. We don\'t want to come up until there\'s light enough to swear to them or they make the reservation."

They waited several minutes, and then, traversing the wood, found their horses and mounted. The grass stretched away, blurred and shadowy, and though they could see nothing that moved upon it, a beat of hoofs came softly back to them.

"Wind\'s bringing the sound," said the teamster. "Guess they won\'t hear us."

They rode out into the gray obscurity, losing the sound now and then. They had gone several leagues when they came to the edge of a dark bluff. Drawing bridle, they sat and listened, until the teamster broke the silence.

"There\'s a trail runs through; we\'ll try it."

The trail was difficult to find and bad to follow, for long grass and willow-scrub partly covered it, and in spite of their caution the men made a good deal of noise. That, however, seemed of less importance, for they could hear nothing ahead, and George looked about carefully as they crossed a more open space. The trees were getting blacker and more distinct; he could see their tops clearly against the sky, and guessed that dawn was near. How far it was to the reservation he did not know, but there would be light enough in another hour to see the men who had carried off the liquor. Then he began to wonder where the latter were, for there was now no sign of them.

Suddenly, when the wind dropped for a moment, a faint rattle of wheels reached them from the depths of the wood, and the teamster raised his hand.

"Pretty close," he said. "Come on as cautious as you can. The reservation\'s not far away, and we don\'t want them to get there much before us."

They rode a little more slowly; but when the rattle of wheels and thud of hoofs grew sharply distinct in another lull, the man struck his horse.

"They\'ve heard us!" he cried. "We\'ve got to run them down!"

George urged his beast, and there was a crackle of brush about him as the black trees streamed past. The thrill of the pursuit possessed him; after weeks of patient labor, he felt the exhilaration of the wild night ride. The trail, he knew, was riddled here and there with gopher holes and partly grown with brush that might bring his horse down, but this did not count. He was glad, however, that the teamster was behind him, because he could see the dim gap ahead between the mass of trees, and he thought that it was rapidly becoming less shadowy. The sound of hoofs and wheels was growing louder; they were coming up with the fugitives.

"Keep them on the run!" gasped ............