They were indistinguishable except as sounds deadened by the fog; but human voices they certainly were. Throwing off her robe she sat up, seeking, her features tensed with the strain. She to me. I over, as anxious as she. The voices might be far, they might be near; but it was an situation, as if we were neighboring with warlocks.  
“I’ve been hearing them some little while,” she whispered.
 
“The Captain Adams men may be trailing us?”
 
“I hope not! Oh, I hope not,” she , in sheer agony. “If we might only know in time.”
 
Suddenly the fog was shot with gold, as the sun flashed in. In to the command a slow and stately movement began, by all the troops of mist. The elements drifted in , marching and countermarching and rearranging, until presently, while we intent to the secrets of their late camp, a beautiful phenomenon offered.
 
The great army rose for flight, lifting like a 273blanket. Gradually the earth appeared in glimpses beneath their floating array, so that whereas our plot of higher ground was still invested, stooping low and scanning we could see beyond us by the extent of a narrow thinning belt capped with the heavier white.
 
“There!” she whispered, pointing. “Look! There they are!”
 
Feet, legs, moving of themselves, cut off at the knees by the fog layer, distant not more than short rifle range: that was what had been revealed. A , absurd spectacle of a score or two of amputated limbs now resurrected and blindly in quest of bodies.
 
“The Mormons!” I .
 
“No! Leggins! Moccasins! They are Indians. We must leave right away before they see us.”
 
With our stuff she ran, I ran, for the . We worked rapidly, and saddling while the fog rose with measured steadiness.
 
“Hurry!” she bade.
 
The whole desert was a golden when having packed we climbed aboard—she more spry than I, so that she led again.
 
As we urged outward the legs, behind, had taken to themselves . But the mist down upon us; our mules’ made no sound , on the moistened soil; we lost the legs, and the voices, and pressing the pace I rode beside her.274
 
“Where?” I inquired.
 
“As far as we can while the fog hangs. Then we must hide in the first good place. If they don’t strike our trail we’ll be all right.”
 
The fog lingered in patches. From patch to patch we threaded, with many a glance over shoulder. But time was traveling faster. I marked her searching about . Blue had already appeared above, the sun found us again and again, and the fog remnants went spinning and coiling, in last ghostly dance like that of .
 
Now we came to a rough outcrop of red sandstone, ruddily on our right. She quickly for it.
 
“The best chance. I see nothing else,” she muttered. “We can tie the mules under cover, and wait. We’ll surely be spied if we keep on.”
 
“Couldn’t we risk it?”
 
“No. We’ve not start enough.”
 
In a moment we had gained the refuge. The sculptured rock masses, detached one from another, several ten feet up, received us. We tied the mules short, in a nook at the rear; and we ourselves crawled on, farther in, until we lay amidst the shadowing , with the desert opening before us.
 
The fog wraiths were very few; the sun blazed more and wiped them out, so that through the marvelously clear air the expanse of , 275country stood clean cut. No moving object could escape notice in this void. And we had been just in time. The slight had been left not a mile to the southwest. I heard My Lady catch breath, felt her hand find mine as we lay almost . Rounding the knoll there appeared a file of mounted figures; by their robes and blankets, their tufted lances and shields, yes, by the very way they sat their painted , Indians unmistakably.
 
“They must have been camped near us all night.” And she . “Now if they only don’t cross our trail. We mustn’t move.”
 
They came on at a canter, riding bravely, glancing right and left—a score of them headed by a -blanketed man upon a horse. So was the air, washed by the fog and vivified by the sun, that I could decipher the color pattern of his shield emblazonry: a checkerboard of red and black.
 
“A war party. Sioux, I think,” she said. “Don’t they carry scalps on that first lance? They’ve been raiding the stage line. Do you see any squaws?”
 
“No,” I hazarded, with beating heart. “All , I should guess.”
 
“All warriors. But squaws would be worse.”
 
On they cantered, until their paint stripes and daubs were plain; we might note every detail of their . They were paralleling our outward course; indeed, seemed to be from our and making more to the west. And 276I had hopes that, after all, we were safe. Then her hand clutched mine firmly. A wolf had leaped from in the path of the file; loped across the desert, and instantly, with a that echoed upon us like the crack of , a young fellow from the line in gay pursuit.
 
My Lady drew quick breath, with despairing .
 
“That is cruel, cruel! They might have ridden past; but now—look!”
 
The stripling (he appeared to be scarcely more than a boy) hammered in chase, stringing his bow and plucking arrow. The wolf cast eye over shoulder, and . Away they tore, while the file slackened, to watch. Our trail of flight bore right athwart the wolf’s projected route. There was just the remote chance that the lad would overrun it, in his eagerness; and for that intervening moment of grace we stared, fascinated, hand clasping hand.
 
“He’s found it! He’s found it!” she announced, in a little .
 
In mid-career the boy had checked his so shortly that the four hoofs ploughed the sand. He wheeled on a and rode back for a few yards, scanning the ground, letting the wolf go. The stillness that had settled while we gazed and the file of warriors, , gazed, gripped and fairly hurt. I cursed the youth. Would to God he had stayed at home—God grant that mangy wolf died by trap or poison. Our one chance made the sport of an accidental view-halloo, when all the wide desert was open.
 
The youth had halted again, leaning from his saddle pad. He raised, he flung up glad hand and commenced to ride in circles, around and around and around. The band to him.
 
“Yes, he has found it,” she said. “Now they will come.”
 
“What shall we do?” I asked her.
 
And she answered, releasing my hand.
 
“I don’t know. But we must wait. We can stand them off for a while, I suppose——”
 
“I’ll do my best, with the revolver,” I promised.
 
“Yes,” she murmured. “But after that——?”
 
I had no reply. This contingency—we two facing Indians—was outside my calculations.
 
The Indians had grouped; several had dismounted, peering closely at our trail, reading it, it, estimating it. They had no difficulty, for the prints were hardly dried of the fog moisture. The others sat idly, searching the horizons with their eyes, but at confident ease. In the wide expanse this rock of ours seemed to me to summon , challenging them. They surely must know. Yet there they delayed, torturing us, playing blind, cat and mouse; but of course they were reasoning and making certain.
 
Now the dismounted warriors ahorse; at a 278gesture from the chief two men rode aside, farther to the east, seeking other sign. They found none, and to his hail they returned.
 
There was ano............