"HE'S UP TO SOME MISCHIEF, I'LL WARRANT."  
The instant Brinton Kingsland looked around and saw the Indian on his pony, a short distance away, with his rifle at his shoulder and about to fire a second time, he brought his own Winchester to a level and aimed at the one who had attempted thus treacherously to shoot him in the back.
 
The Indian was no older than himself, sitting firmly on the bare back of his horse, with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders, and several stained eagle feathers protruding from his hair, as black and coarse as that of his pony's tail. His dark eyes glittered as they glanced along the barrel of his rifle, and he aimed straight at the breast of the youth, who instead of flinging himself over the side of his horse in the attempt to dodge the deadly missile, sat bolt upright and aimed in turn at the miscreant, who, as if stirred by the same scorn of personal danger, remained firmly in his seat.
 
It all depended on who should fire first, and that which we have related took place, as may be said, in the twinkling of an eye.
 
But with the weapons poised, the eyes of the two glancing along the barrels and the fingers on the triggers, neither gun was discharged. Brinton was on the point of firing, when the Indian abruptly lowered his Winchester, with the exclamation—
 
"Hoof! Brinton!"
 
The white youth had recognised the other at the same instant when another moment would have been too late. He, too, dropped the stock of his gun from his shoulder and called out with a surprised expression—
 
"Wolf Ear!"
 
The Indian touched his pony with his heel, and the animal moved forward briskly, until the riders faced each other within arm's length.
 
"How do you do?" asked the Ogalalla, extending his hand, which Brinton took with a smile, and the reproving remark—
 
"I did not expect such a welcome from you, Wolf Ear."
 
"I did not know it was you, good friend Brinton."
 
"And suppose you did not; are you the sort of warrior that shoots another in the back?"
 
The broad face, with its high cheek bones, coppery skin, low forehead and Roman nose, changed from the pleasant smile which gave a glimpse of the even white teeth, to a scowl, that told the ugly feelings that had been stirred by the questioning remark of the white youth.
 
"Your people have become my enemies: they have killed Sitting Bull, Black Bird, Catch-the-Bear, Little Assiniboine, Spotted Horse Bull, Brave Thunder, and my friend, Crow Foot, who was the favourite son of Sitting Bull. He was as a brother to me."
 
"And your people have killed Bull Head, Shave Head, Little Eagle, Afraid-of-Soldiers, Hawk Man, and others of their own race, who were wise enough to remain friends of our people. I know of that fight when they set out to arrest Sitting Bull."
 
"They had no right to arrest him," said Wolf Ear, with a flash of his black eyes; "he was in his own tepee (or tent), and harming no one."
 
"He was doing more harm to his own people as well as ours, than all the other malcontents together. He was the plotter of mischief; he encouraged this nonsense about the ghost dances and the coming Messiah, and was doing all he could to bring about a great war between my people and yours. His death is the best fortune that could come to the Indians."
 
"It was murder," said Wolf Ear sullenly, and then, before the other could frame a reply, his swarthy face lightened up.
 
"But you and I, Brinton, are friends; I shot at you because I thought you were someone else; it would have grieved my heart had I done you harm; I am glad I did not; I offer you my hand."
 
Young Kingsland could not refuse the proffer, though he was far from feeling comfortable, despite his narrow escape a moment before.
 
"I thought you were a civilised Indian, Wolf Ear," he added, as he relinquished the grasp, and the two once more looked in each other's countenances; "you told me so when I last saw you."
 
Wolf Ear, the Ogalalla, was sent to Carlisle, when only eight years old. Unusually bright, he had made good progress, and won the golden opinions of his teachers by his gentle, studious deportment, and affection for those that had been kind to him.
 
He spoke English as well as the whites, and was a fine scholar. He went back to his people, when sixteen years old, and did what he could to win them from their savagery and barbarism.
 
He and Brinton Kingsland met while hunting at the base of the Black Hills, and became great friends. The young Ogalalla visited the white youth at his home on Raccoon Creek, where he was kindly treated by the Kingslands, and formed a deep affection for little Edith.
 
But nothing had been seen of Wolf Ear for several months. The home of his people was some distance away, but that should not have prevented him from visiting his white friends, who often wondered why he did not show himself among them.
 
Rather curiously, Brinton was thinking of his dusky comrade at the moment he was roused by the shot which nipped his coat sleeve. It was natural that he should be disappointed, and impatient to find that this bright Indian youth, who had lived for several years among civilised people, was carried away by the wave of excitement that was sweeping across the country. He knew that his twin brother and his father were still savages, and it was easy to find excuse for them, but not for Wolf Ear.
 
"You believe in the coming of One to save your people—why should not we place faith in the coming of our Messiah?" was the pertinent question of Wolf Ear.
 
"What is this revelation?" asked Brinton, who had heard many conflicting accounts of the strange craze, and felt a natural desire for an authoritative statement.
 
"The Messiah once descended to save the white race, but they rejected and put him to death. In turn he rejects them, and will come in the spring, when the grass is about two inches high, and save his red children and destroy his white ones. He has enjoined upon all of us who believe in him to wear a certain dress and to practise the ghost dance, as often and as long as we possibly can, as a proof of our faith. If any of us die from exhaustion, while performing this ceremony, we will be taken direct to the Messiah, where we shall meet those who have died, and whence we will come back to tell the living what we have seen and heard. When the Messiah comes in the spring, a new earth will be created, covering the present world, burying all the whites and those red men that have not joined in the dance. The Messiah will again bring with him the departed of our own people, and the earth shall once more be as our forefathers knew it, except there shall be no more death."
 
Brinton Kingsland listened, amazed as this expression fell from the lips of one who had often lamented the superstition of his own race. That he believed the words he uttered was proven by his earnestness of manner and the glow of his countenance. The white youth restrained his impulse to ridicule the strange faith, for that assuredly would have given offence to the fanatic, who had the right to believe whatever he chose.
 
"Well, Wolf Ear, I can only say I am sorry that you should have been carried away by this error——"
 
"By what right do you call it error?" interrupted the other with a flash of his eyes.
 
"We will not discuss it. It will do no good, and is likely to do harm. I need not be told that you belong to the hostiles, and, if trouble comes, will fight against the whites."
 
"Yes, you are right," calmly replied the Ogalalla, compressing his thin lips and nodding his head a single time.
 
"Your father and brother, whom I have never seen, would shoot me and my folk if they had the chance."
 
"Yes, and so would my mother: she is a warrior too."
 
"But suppose you and I or my father meet, or you have the chance to harm my mother and little sister, Edith?"
 
"Wolf Ear can never raise his hand against them, no matter what harm they may seek to do him. I do not have to tell you that you and I will always be friends, whatever may come."
 
This assurance would have had more weight with young Kingsland could he have felt certain that Wolf Ear was truthful in declaring that he did not suspect his identity at the moment of firing at him.
 
"I believe he meant to take my life," was his thought, "and still meant to do so, when he raised his Winchester a second time, but as we looked into each other's face, he weakened. His people are treacherous, and this pretence of goodwill will not last, or, if it be genuine for the present, it will soon change."
 
Brinton said—
 
"You know where we live, Wolf Ear; I have set out to ride to the reservation to learn whether it is safe to stay where we are: what is your judgment in the matter?"
 
An indefinable expression passed over the broad face before him. The Ogalalla sat gracefully on his horse, even though he had no saddle. A bit was in the pony's mouth, the single rein looping around the neck and resting at the base of the mane, just in front of the rider, who allowed it to lie there, while the two hands idly held the rifle across the back of the animal and his own thighs.
 
"You stayed too long," said he; "you should have left two weeks ago; it is too late now."
 
"But you know my father is not well, Wolf Ear," replied Brinton, with a sickening dread in his heart.
 
"What has that to do with this?"
 
"We did not wish to expose him to the severe weather, as we must in the ride to the agency."
 
"Is he better and stronger now?"
 
"There is little improvement in his condition. He has been ailing a long time, as you know."
 
"Then you have gained nothing and will lose all by your delay."
 
Brinton had no further wish to discuss the ghost dance and the coming of the new Messiah with the young Ogalalla. All his thoughts were of those dear ones, miles away, whose dreadful peril he now fully comprehended for the first time. He saw the mistake that had been made by the delay, and a faintness came over him at the declaration of Wolf Ear that this delay was fatal.
 
His horse was facing the north-west, the direction of his home. There was no call for longer tarrying.
 
"Good-bye," he said, giving the Indian a military salute; "I hope we shall meet ha more pleasant circumstances, when you shall see, Wolf Ear, the mistake you are making."
 
Trained in the ways of the white people, the dusky youth raised his hand to his forehead, and sat motionless on his horse, without speaking, as his friend dashed across the plain, over the trail which he had followed to the banks of the Big Cheyenne.
 
It was not yet noon, and Brinton was hopeful of reaching home long before the day drew to a close. The chilliness of the air continued, and a few feathery flakes of snow drifted horizontally on the wind or were whirled about the head of the young horseman. He glanced up at the leaden sky and noted that the temperature was falling.
 
"Like enough we shall have one of those blizzards, when the horses and cattle freeze to death under shelter and we can only huddle and shiver around the fire and wait for the tempest to pass. It will be the death of us all, if we start for the agency and are caught in one of the blizzards, but death awaits us if we stay. Ah me, what will become of father, ill and weak as he is?"
 
The words of Wolf Ear made the youth more circumspect and alert than when riding away from his home. He continually glanced ahead, on his right and left and to the rear. The first look in the last direction showed him the young Ogalalla sitting like a statue on his pony and gazing after him.
 
Some minutes later, when Brinton turned his head again, he saw him riding at a rapid pace towards the north, or rather a little west of north, so that the course of the two slightly diverged.
 
"He's up to some mischief, I'll warrant," was Brinton's conclusion, "and he already recalls his profession of friendship for me. Halloa! I don't like the look of that."
 
In the precise direction pursued by the Ogalalla, which was toward Rapid Creek, a tributary of the Big Cheyenne, he discerned several Indian horsemen. They were riding close, and were so mingled together that it was impossible to tell their number. They seemed to be about half a dozen, and were advancing as if to meet Wolf Ear, who must have descried them before Brinton.
 
"They will soon unite, and when they do he will be the fiercest warrior among them. I wonder——"
 
He held his breath a moment, and then only whisper—
 
"I wonder if they have not already visited our home?"