This is a work of fiction. While the general outlines of history have been faithfully followed, certain details involving setting, characters, and events may have been simplified.

Red Elk, chief of the mighty Blackfoot Indians, stood at the edge of a high cliJBF and watched the snakeHke column of a wagon train far below. His expression was fierce as he tried to contain his fury and frustration at the presence of white intruders in the lands that had once belonged to the Indians. Stretching out his arms, he looked up to the heavens, and in a voice bursting with emotion, he cried out:

"By the gods above and by my ancestors, I swear we win destroy the white men who intrude upon our landsl Soon bloody scalps will hang from the belts of all red men. I, Red Elk of the Blackfoot, have been called by Thunder Cloud of the Sioux to meet with him in Dakota. There we will also meet with Big Knife of the Cheyenne to plan ways to work together in trampHng the white man into the dust."

With great agility. Red Elk leaped onto his horse and galloped away, followed by his war chiefs and braves, whose faces mirrored the feelings of their chief. The wagon train they had seen heading west would be the

last to pass through unharmed. After the meeting of the chiefs in the Dakota Territory, white men would be eliminated from Indian lands once and for all.

The wagon train that moved slowly across the rugged Rocky Mountains, en route from Fort Shaw in the Montana Territory to Fort Vancouver in the Washington Territory, bore a strong resemblance to the trains that had made similar journeys more than two decades earlier. For one thing, the canvas-covered wagons, filled with food supplies and household goods, were similar, as were the teams of sturdy workhorses that pulled them. Also, the men and women who drove the wagons, most of them young and self-reliant, bore a striking resemblance to the earlier pioneers, and the rate of travel in the mountains—approximately ten to fifteen miles each day—was about the same.

But the big difference of this wagon train was the presence of the blue-uniformed troop of one hundred horsemen, members of the Eleventh U.S. Cavalry, who escorted the train. The troops, suppHed by Colonel Andrew Brentwood, commander of Fort Shaw, were veterans of the recently ended Civil War, as well as the conflict in Montana the previous month with the Sioux Indians. The soldiers carried rifles and cavalr>' sabers, and they acted as deterrents to those who otherwise might have found the wagon train a tempting target.

Members of the wagon train included army personnel and their families, as well as a few immigrants from the East, who had traveled to Fort Shaw in Montana by way of steamboat on the Missouri River. Without the army escort, these wagon train members would have faced raids by the Indian tribes of the mountains as well

as by bands of outlaws, who preyed on so many immigrants traveling west.

Clarissa Holt, a scarf tied over her red hair to protect it from the sun, was on the seat of her wagon. She was tall and statuesque, qualities that couldn t conceal the fact that she was a few months* pregnant. As she drove the vehicle with practiced ease, she reflected that she was enjoying herself enormously. She had made a journey like this just a few years earUer, when, as a widow in Philadelphia whose husband died fighting in the Civil War, she had traveled to the Washington Territory in what came to be called "the cargo of brides." Her friends on that journey had found new lives and husbands for themselves in the West, and she had found happiness when she had fallen in love vdth and married Toby Holt, son of the legendary Whip Holt, the mountain man and guide whose name was synonymous with the opening of the West.

Clarissa knew that in years past, when Whip Holt had led the wagon train across the Rockies, the pioneers had only themselves to rely on, and she had heard corroborating stories from Toby's mother, Eulalia, about the adventure-packed, dangerous travel that the settlers on the first wagon train to Oregon had endured. Now, in the 1860s, the trails were well traveled, many army posts were established, and wagon trains frequently moved in the company of army troops. Thus, overland travel in the West held fewer dangers, though it was no less arduous, especially in the mountains. Only the establishing of the transcontinental railroad, which Toby Holt was working on, would make travel through the mountains seem easy.

Forthright and blunt, Clarissa told herself that her happiness would be complete if only Toby were with her right now, sharing the pleasures of this wagon train

journey in the pleasant autumn weather. But Toby, whose exploits were winning him a measure of fame almost as great as that of his late father, had been summoned to Washington City to confer with General Ulysses S. Grant, the chief of staff of the United States Army. The exact nature of the meeting was secret, but Clarissa knew it had something to do with the growing problems with the Indians.

Before heading east, Toby had insisted that his wife leave Fort Shaw, where she had stayed while he worked on the survey of the railroad in Montana. She was to travel with the small wagon train of army men and their families and join Toby's mother and stepfather. General Leland Blake, at Fort Vancouver in the Washington Territory, where General Blake made his headquarters as commander of the Army of the West. Clarissa was carrying their child, and Fort Shaw, Toby had decreed, was too much of a frontier post for a new Holt to begin life there.

Clarissa and Toby had been married only a scant six months, and in that time they had experienced a number of trials. Toby's proposal to Clarissa the previous spring had been sudden, and she was conscious that he had made it not so much out of love for her as out of a sense of bewilderment and distress at events in his own life. First, there had been the violent death of his estranged former wife. Then he had lost his father in a tragic rockslide in the Washington Territory. They had been close as few fathers and sons are, and Toby was thrown completely off balance. To further complicate his life, he had been infatuated with Beth Blake, who married his best friend. And to top it off, Toby's mother, Eulalia, married again. Of all the men who could have become his stepfather, Toby couldn't have wished for anyone more worthy than

General Lee Blake, but nevertheless, he had had difiB-culty accepting his mother's remarriage.

Now, however, all this unhappiness seemed to be fading. Toby had come close to losing Clarissa in the recent battle with the Sioux in the Montana Territory, and this made him realize how much he loved her, that she was the one person in his life who really mattered. Clarissa fervently believed that now their love could shield them from all difficulties—past and future.

A move on the seat next to her aroused Clarissa from her reverie, and blinking, she diverted her attention to Hank Purcell, the sixteen-year-old orphan she and Toby had informally adopted in Montana. Tall for his age, Hank was thin, with sun-streaked hair and freckles on his nose. At the moment he was petting Mr. Blake, Toby's German shepherd, who sat beside him and was accompanying Clarissa and Hank to Washington, acting as their protector.

Hank's accuracy as a marksman with rifle and pistol was remarkable, and the Holts had placed him under their wing to prevent him from becoming a professional gunslinger. Indeed, he was such an expert shot that he had already become the wagon train's principal hunter.

Clarissa was horrified when suddenly she saw that Hank had his rifle raised to his shoulder and was squinting down the barrel.

"Hank!" she exclaimed. 'What on earth do you think you're doing? You know very well that the cavalry escort has forbidden anyone to shoot a gun from the wagons. Put down that rifle this instant!"

Hank gave a deep sigh, the reaction of an adolescent to the restrictions of adults. He lowered his rifle, then furiously brushed the bridge of his nose, as though trying to rid it of the freckles that dusted it. "I had the

heftiest bighorn sheep you ever saw lined up in my sights," he said regretfully. "In another half-minute, I would have squeezed the trigger, and we'd have had a real treat for supper tonight."

Clarissa averted her face so he wouldn't see the humor that welled up in her green eyes. Toby had been right when he had told her, "That boy is a natural with a gun. He'd rather shoot than eat or sleep."

He was sensitive, too, and inclined to brood over grievances—probably because he was so conscious of being alone in the world. He now looked very unhappy, having been denied his sport, and Clarissa felt she had to distract him.

"I'm sure I'd have enjoyed the mutton," she said. "But to tell you the truth, I'm looking forward to that antelope you shot yesterday." Actually, she had never eaten antelope meat, which she had heard was tough and stringy, and she wasn't looking forward to it at all.

Hank was self-disparaging. "Shooting an antelope," he said scornfully, "ain't what I call fancy shooting."

Clarissa, a former schoolteacher in Philadelphia, had spent months at Fort Shaw teaching Hank correct En-ghsh. Occasionally, however, especially when he was excited or irritable, he forgot his grammar, which was one reason Clarissa was anxious to enroll him in school once they reached Fort Vancouver. But for the moment she had other matters on her mind. "You brought down three animals in less time than it takes to tell it. I'd call that very fancy shooting, indeed," she said with finality. "Besides, I've been anxious to try out my father-in-law's recipe for antelope meat."

The boy was excited. "One of Whip Holt's own recipes? Gollyl If it ain't—I mean, isn't—a secret, maybe you could teU it to me."

As Clarissa had hoped, his failure to shoot the bighorn sheep was forgotten. "You may watch when I make the dish," Clarissa repHed sweetly. "I learned the recipe from my mother-in-law." As a matter of fact, she had indeed been told the recipe by Eulaha, who had laughingly explained at the time that she had no intention of ever preparing the dish, having eaten enough antelope steak on the original wagon train jovmaey to the West.

"The only secret of preparing antelope," she said, "is that you cut the meat into small pieces and put them into a pot with some bones and a Httle water. You don't add the vegetables until later. Then you cook the meat very slowly over a low fire, and you let it bubble away for at least twice as long as you'd cook beef. Antelope is tough unless it's cooked for a very long time, even longer than buffalo meat."

Hank looked grateful. *T11 remember that," he said.

The atmosphere was far less tranquil on the seat of the next wagon in the line. Holding the reins of the team of four horses was Rob Martin, Toby Holt's closest friend and partner in laying out the Northern Pacific's route for a transcontinental railroad. Tall and soHdly built, with a strong, square jaw and thick red hair, Rob was the son of Dr. Robert and Tonie Martin, who had traveled to Oregon in the original wagon train. Rob had grown up in the Portland area, and he and Toby had known each other all their hves. Now, however, Toby was en route to Washington City and an unknovm destiny, while Rob was heading for Fort Vancouver and then on to Cahfomia. He had agreed to oversee the construction there of the Central Pacific Raihoad, which was scheduled to meet the tracks being laid by the Union Pacific somewhere in Utah.

Seated beside him on the wagon seat, her long blond

hair tousled, her blue eyes icy, was Rob's wife, Beth, the daughter of Lee and Cathy Blake. Many old friends of her parents claimed that she bore a startling resemblance to her mother, but few people had ever seen Cathy be as moody and temperamental as Beth. Indeed, the young woman had suflFered terribly when her mother had died with Whip Holt in the rocksHde. Missing Cathy so much, Beth had become nearly hysterical when her father had married Eulalia Holt, and Beth's attitude—toward life in general and Eulaha in particular-had grown worse and worse.

"Did you actually tell me," she suddenly demanded, "or did I just dream about that gold mine you and Toby found in Montana? Weren't we supposed to be financially independent for the rest of our lives?"

"All I know," Rob said patiently, used to her sarcasm, "is that when Chet Harris and Wong Ke took over the management of the mine for us, they told Toby and me that we'd be comfortable for as long as we Hved. What they mean by comfortable, and what you mean by financial independence, I don't know. I'm inclined to accept the estimates of Chet and Ke because they made their own fortunes during the big strike in Cahfomia back in forty-nine, and they obviously know what they're talking about."

"If we have the money to do what we please, then I see no reason to hold back," Beth said flatly. "We can buy a house in San Francisco, and I can Hve there while you're out in the Sierra Nevada, overseeing the construction of the raihoad."

He sighed heavily. "Yes, Tm smre we could afford to buy a house there, but why you'd want to live in San Francisco, where you don't know a soul, is beyond me. I

think you'd be much better off living with your family in Fort Vancouver until I finish my assignment."

Beth replied in a low, intense voice. ''Nothing on earth will force me to live under the same roof with that womani"

Rob arched an eyebrow. "You mean Eulalia?"

"Correct/* she replied angrily. "Eulalia Holt Blake. You won't beheve this, Rob, no matter how many times I tell you, but I saw her expression when my mother and her husband died in that terrible rockslide. She was determined not to be a widow. She wanted my father's rank and social position, and she went after him right then. She played all her cards right, presuming on a lifelong friendship and demanding his sympathy. Well, she got him, and she's Mrs. Lee Blake now, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to show approval by spending even a single night under their roof."

Rob looked with unseeing eyes at the rugged, snow-covered peaks on both sides of the narrow valley through which the wagon train was traveling. Tugging his broad-brimmed hat lower on his forehead, he sighed. *'By this time," he said heavily, "you know I don't believe that. I've known Eulaha all my hfe, and in my opinion she's a fine woman—a damned fine woman."

**You like her because you and Toby are so close," she said. "But I know what I know."

The unending argument led them nowhere, and once more Rob tried to sort out the situation. He recognized that his obstinate, independent wife had been badly spoiled as a girl by her parents. But, as he realized aU too well, their problem went beyond that. After her father s remarriage, Beth had become increasingly remote, faiHng to respond to his lovemaking; her indifference had cooled his passion so that he was rarely aroused.

The lack of ardor shown by one was felt by the other, and the vicious cycle was growing increasingly worse.

Rob, who loved his wife, was in a quandary. If necessary, he knew he could exercise his prerogatives as head of the family and insist that she obey him. But such a course was certain to cause more problems than it would solve. Not only would Beth be miserable if she was forced to live with her father and stepmother, she would also cause them great unhappiness. Worst of all, the gulf that separated her from her husband would become wider and deeper, and it might not be possible for them ever to bridge their diflFerences.

He wondered whether he might to wiser to give Beth her head in the hope that the passage of time would soften her opinion of her stepmother. Once she was cured of that strange fixation, he reasoned, all her other troubles might solve themselves.

"Suppose I were to leave this whole matter in your hands?" he said. "What would you do?"

Beth suddenly brightened. The prospect of having her own way improved her mood -instantly. Once again she became the lovely, vivacious Beth Blake Rob had known when he first married her. Her smile was radiant, and her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him. "First of all," she replied sweetly, "you and I will leave Fort Vancouver as soon as the wagon train gets there. We'll hire a carriage, load up our belongings, and go directly to your family in Portland."

"Hold on," he said, raising a hand. "If you mean that you wont even spend a night or two under your father and stepmother's roof, I've got to draw the line. You have no call to insult them that way. They wouldn't understand what you were doing, any more than I do. I'll compromise with you, Beth, and we'll find some-

place where you can stay for the six to twelve months that I'll be off building the Central Pacific hues. But I won't even consider the matter unless you agree to pay at least a token visit to your father and Eulaha/'

Beth was faring better than she had anticipated and felt sure a real victory was within sight. Nevertheless, she hated to concede even a minor point and could not help replying between-clenched teeth, "Oh, all right. I suppose I can tolerate watching that conniving woman weave her spell around my father for a day or two/'

"That's very noble of you, I'm sure," Rob said.

She ignored his comment. "After that, I'll find a place in San Francisco. The Sierra Nevada aren't all that far away, and you could come down from the mountains and join me in the city whenever you've had enough of primitive living."

**I wouldn't say that San Francisco is an ideal place for any lady to settle in," he said. "Yes, we spent our honeymoon there, but that was different. For a woman on her own, it's a wild, wide-open town."

"Those stories are exaggerated," Beth said impatiently. **The vigilante committees and the army garrison at the Presidio keep order. After all, any number of prominaat people live in the town with their families—Chet Harris and Wong Ke, just to mention two who come to mind."

He was dubious but began to weaken. *1 don't know/' he said. "This will require some thought. I must admit, I like the idea of having you fairly close whenever I can get away from my work for a few weeks or so. But I'm not sure you'd be safe living in San Francisco alone."

"What harm could possibly come to me?" she demanded. "After all, I came to know a great many people there when Papa was in command of the Presidio.

What's more, the Harrises and the Wongs can always act as my chaperons."

Chet Harris had crossed America on the original wagon train to Oregon as a boy and had become a multimillionaire, an industriahst and financier responsible for much of the development of cities in CaUfornia and Oregon. He was also the stepson of a retired United States senator from Oregon, and there were few people anywhere who had his respectability. Wong Ke, who had immigrated to America from China, had met Chet in the gold rush of 1849 in California, and they had become partners and close friends. Ke and his wife, Mei Lo, were also exemplary citizens of San Francisco.

Perhaps, Rob thought, San Francisco was the answer. *'When we reach the city," he said, "Fve got to see Chet on business relating to our mine. Suppose I sound him out then and get his advice?"

"What a good idea," Beth said demurely. She felt certain that Harris and his charming wife, Clara Lou, would welcome her to San Francisco. She would not be forced to live under her father's roof, with Eulalia Blake as mistress of the house.

A sense of uneasiness pervaded the Dakota Territory, a land of vast prairies and rugged hills, of hunting grounds for buffalo and elk, antelope and deer. A land larger than the Washington Territory and Oregon combined, the sparsely populated Dakota Territory was now to be the meeting place of three of the most fearsome Plains Indian tribes, who were making plans to engage in war against the United States.

The chiefs and warriors of the Sioux, the Blackfoot, and the Cheyenne were gathering for a meeting in the western part of Dakota, in an area known as the Bad-

lands, a region of deep gorges and high buttes, rugged hills and huge rocks with jagged, strange shapes. In spite of the western migration that had brought settlers all the way to the Pacific Coast and to the lands that lay between it and the heavily populated Middle West, there were almost no white men in the Badlands. The soil was as unproductive as the vistas were bleak, and the temperatures, ranging from blistering heat in summer to numbing cold in the winter, did not encourage settlers to sink roots there.

It was toward the Badlands that Thunder Cloud, the distinguished, shrewd leader of the mighty Sioux nation, the most numerous and powerful of the Great Plains tribes, headed after his warriors had suflFered a severe defeat in Montana at the hands of the Eleventh U.S. Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Andrew Brentwood. It was also in the Badlands that Thunder Cloud had decided to hold this meeting of the three Indian nations, and he had sent out Sioux couriers to notify the Black-foot and the Cheyenne.

Thunder Cloud, wearing his distinctive, feathered warbonnet, rode at the front of the Sioux procession. He was a large man of middle age, with a powerful, broad chest and strong arms, and he carried himself with a natural dignity and grace that belied his years. No one seeing this proud, fierce-looking chief for the first time would have guessed that he had at last met his match and had been driven from Montana.

Behind him, some mounted on horses, some treading on foot, were hundreds of warriors, the survivors of what had been the so-called invincible corps of braves. Colonel Brentwood and his cavalrymen had taught the warriors a bitter lesson: He who attacked settlers and

destroyed or stole their property would pay the consequences.

Dazed by their defeat, the braves knew only that they retained faith in Thunder Cloud. Where he led, they followed. So they marched deeper and deeper into the Badlands, the atmosphere becoming increasingly eerie. The hunters who had volunteered to go out into the Plains in search of game were glad to have something to get their minds off the unreUeved gloom.

Living up to their proud boasts that they could make themselves at home anywhere, the Sioux set up their tepees of animal sldns, made their campfires, and for the first time since they had been forced to flee the Montana battlefields, they enjoyed hot food instead of having to rely on jerked beef and parched corn. They roasted the elk and buffalo the hunters had brought in that day and ate hungrily. Then, sitting around the campfires, they gazed at the vast starlit sky above the Badlands.

Twenty-four hours later, Sioux scouts sat their mounts on the highest hills near their bivouac and watched the approach of another similar force heading into the Badlands from the north. Mounted on horseback, these braves were armed with bows and had quivers of arrows slung over their shoulders.

When the strangers drew nearer, one of the scouts broke the silence. "Blackfootl" he said.

That identification explained why the new arrivals looked so self-confident and held their heads so high. The Blackfoot were the scourge of the northern Plains, and none of the neighboring tribes dared to stand up to them. As the Blackfoot poured into the area and set up their camps, the Sioux, sensitive to their recent defeat, kept their distance, as Thunder Cloud had instructed them. The chief knew that his warriors were hot-tern-

pered, and because they were unafraid of the Blackfoot, fights could break out at any signs of condescension or ridicule on the part of the other Indians.

No hostile incidents, however, marred the meeting of the two nations, not only because of the common sense of Thunder Cloud but also because of that of Red Elk, the chieftain of the Blackfoot. Many years younger than Thunder Cloud, he was nevertheless just as sensible, and he, too, instructed his braves to keep to themselves.

As it turned out, the warriors of the two nations got along very well, and after two days they were hunting and fishing together, eating their meals with each other, and even sharing evening campfires. The Sioux and the Blackfoot, to their mutual astonishment, discovered they had many attitudes in common, not the least of which was a burning hatred for the people of the United States. These intruders who migrated from the more settled parts of America, bringing their wives, children, and household belongings with them, were indifferent to the fate of the Indian nations and settled in the sacred hunting grounds of the tribes, literally taking food out of the mouths of the Indians. The braves agreed that this situation could not be allowed to exist any longer.

Eventually the two groups were joined by a third tribe, the ferocious and defiant Cheyenne of the south-em Plains. Arrogant and proud, the Cheyenne recognized no authority other than their own. They were so suspicious, even of other Indian tribes, that when their leader, Big Knife, arrived to confer with Thunder Cloud and Red Elk, he was escorted by a hundred heavily armed warriors.

The outraged Sioux refused to admit Big Knife and his entourage into the encampment, and a heated altercation followed. A fight that would have ruptured the

peace and destroyed the carefully laid plans of Thunder Cloud was averted when the Sioux chieftain heard raised voices and, with Red Elk following him, emerged from his tepee to see what was amiss.

Raising his voice. Thunder Cloud bellowed like a wounded bear. "You are now brothers at this council! He who raises a hand against his brother will die the torture death of the Plainsl"

Order was restored with difficulty, and the Cheyenne bodyguard permitted their chieftain to accompany the other leaders only because they were reassiu-ed by the presence of the Blackfoot leader in the Sioux camp.

Once Thunder Cloud was alone with his two visitors, he led them to a small fire burning behind a huge boulder that concealed all three of the leaders from their followers. Seating his guests with due ceremony, he Hghted a peace pipe, and once it was drawing freely, he passed it to Big Knife, who puffed on it and handed it to Red Elk.

Thunder Cloud made a gracious welcoming speech, and Red Elk replied in kind, but after the way of Indians, his address was longer and more elaborate. Then it was the turn of Big Knife, who spoke interminably.

Thunder Cloud remained outwardly serene, his face and manner in no way indicating his inner tensions. He was an old hand at conferences with chiefs from other tribes. He had been holding such meetings for many years, and aware of the Indians' love of ceremony, he was resigned to wasting a great deal of time before he could get down to business.

Finally, however, the blessings of the gods who guided the destinies of all three nations having been duly invoked, he proceeded to the subject that had impelled him to caU the conference. "My brothers," he

said, "I will not be satisfied until every river that runs through the Great Plains, the northern Plains, and the mountains is red with the blood of the white settlers."

Red Elk nodded. "I do not blame you for feehng as you do, my brother,'* he said. "It is not easy to suffer humiliation by the U.S. Cavalry."

Big Knife grinned insolently. "He who has been bitten by the snake with a rattle in its tail," he said, "is forever afraid when he hears a rattle."

Thunder Cloud looked at him calmly. "The Cheyenne are fortunate," he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "They are luckier than their brothers of the Sioux and of the Blackfoot. Unlike the lands of the Sioux and of the Blackfoot, the hunting grounds of the Cheyenne are still filled with game, their rivers are still well stocked with fish, and many beaver, fox, and bear provide coats of warm fur for the warriors, squaws, and children of the Cheyenne when the weather is cold."

Big Knife was vulnerable to the ridicule of the older leader, and his eyes blazed angrily. "Thunder Cloud," he said, "well knows that the Cheyenne have suffered grave injustices at the hands of the white men, just as the Sioux have suffered them."

"Ah," the older man said mildly, "then you are willing to consider joining forces with the Sioux and the Blackfoot to stop these injustices and to right the wrongs that have been done to our nation."

**My warriors and I," Big Knife said stridently, "have marched for many days to explore with you the possibilities of such a imion."

"Then hear what I say," Thunder Cloud told him, "and do you Hkewise, Red Elk. This is a time for truth. The soldiers of the United States Cavalry are superior to our own warriors. They are not better fighting men, but

they are better equipped. They are armed with firesticks. Our bows and arrows cannot compete with them, just as our wooden lances are no match for the steel of their sabers. Their horses are big and strong, and although they are not as swift as our mounts, they are less skittish during battle. The armed might of the white men grows stronger with each passing day, and the troops who wear their uniforms are also growing in numbers. The Sioux met their cavalry in battle, and we were vanquished. Only because our gods took pity on us were we able to escape with our lives so that we may fight again."

Red Elk's brow was furrowed. "What must we do, my brother, if the Blackfoot are to avoid the disasters that struck the Sioux?**

*1 do not need to have the vision of a medicine man," Thunder Cloud said solemnly, "to foretell the futmre. I see the day coming when there will be no hunting grounds left for the Indian nations. Already in the eastern portions of what the white men call the Dakota Territory, farmers are growing wheat and com. They are encroaching more and more on our hunting grounds. The great herds of buffalo, as well as elk and moose, antelope and deer, that have provided food and clothing and tepees for our people for untold time are beginning to vanish. The white man takes skins of beaver to make hats for men and coats for women, and there are no beaver left in our rivers. The white men are like a great plague of locusts who denude our lands."

"The Cheyenne vidll take action to stop them!" Big Knife cried.

Thunder Cloud shook his liead sadly. **The Sioux have already acted and have suffered a terrible defeat," he said. "Are the Cheyenne mightier and stronger than the

Sioux? In your heart of hearts, you know they are not. Are the Blackfoot stronger?^

Red Elk shook his head. "That is what my warriors like to think when they drink much whiskey," he said, "but they know that they are not the equal in battle of the Sioux.**

Having established his point, Thunder Cloud drove home his message. "We must lay aside our ancient feuds. The Sioux and the Blackfoot and the Cheyenne must stand together and act as one nation against the white man's soldiers. We will overwhelm them with our numbers, and even though their weapons are superior to ours, they will not be able to stop our warriors. For every brave that falls to the white man's guns, we will be able to send in another one to take his place, until at last we have driven the white man from our lands. But time is short, my brothers. Either we stand together immediately, or the settlers will drive the last of our game from our hunting grounds I"

Big Knife scowled and shook a menacing fist. "Our warriors must form an alhance and together drive the intruders from our lands."

"You are right," Red Elk said. **We must band together against themi"

Thunder Cloud breathed more easily. Each chieftain believed he had originated the idea of forming an alhance of Indian nations, and therefore each would see to it that his braves accepted the plan.

"In order that there be no strife among us," Thvmder Cloud said, "let each nation be commanded by its own chief. But we will act together, and we will take a firm stand against the armies of the white men who would rob us of our heritage 1"

Now the warriors of the three tribes were summoned

to a meeting, and the chieftains presented the plan to them, saying that they would go to war the following summer. In the meantime, the various tribes would return to their villages to wait out the coming winter and to prepare themselves for war. The men were to make more arrows and other weapons, and the women were to make plenty of pemmican and parched com. In long, fierce speeches one theme was stressed repeatedly: Havoc would be created for the white man, and when the war ended, the hunting grounds of the West once again would belong to the Indians, who had called them their own for hundreds of years.

As the chieftains anticipated, the braves voted unanimously to fight together. The fate of white men in the Plains of the West and in the Rocky Mountains appeared to be sealed;

A silence engulfed the assemblage as the chieftains engaged in the ritual of exchanging wampum, strips of leather that had been bleached white in the sun and studded with beads and shells. Now the treaty of alliance was binding, and the Sioux, the Blackfoot, and the Cheyenne had become blood brothers. When they regrouped in the summer, all of them would be dedicated to the elimination of settlers from the regions they considered their own.

For the first time in history, the three most powerful and warlike tribes of the American West were at peace with each other. As the ceremonies were concluded, and wild, triumphant war whoops rose into the air above the Dakota Badlands, the future appeared as bleak for the army and the settlers as the landscape itself.

The United States Army had grown so rapidly during the Civil War that its headquarters were located in a

number of buildings in Washington City. At the end of the war, men had been demobilized by the tens of thousands, but such were the pecuHarities of bureaucracy that the headquarters remained overcrowded.

Nowhere was this more evident than in the oflBcial building that housed the secretary of war and the chief of staff. General Ulysses Simpson Grant, the highest-ranking uniformed officer in the service of his country, occupied a suite of small, cramped rooms. His private sanctum, adjoining a tiny conference room, was barely large enough for his desk and two visitors' chairs. A gruff, biurly man with a dark, full beard. General Grant showed his usual disregard for army regulations by leaving the top buttons of his tunic unbuttoned. This was admittedly sloppy, but as the general confided to his intimates, at least he was comfortable and was not in danger of choking.

There was a knock on his oflBce door, which the general answered with a loud command to enter. It was Toby Holt. Lean and angular like his late father, Toby appeared to be made only of sinew and muscle. His hair was sandy colored, his eyes were pale blue and penetrating, and his rugged appearance was that of a man who spent much time in the wilderness. Only his jacket, necktie, and brown serge trousers suggested he was also comfortable with civilized ways.

As Toby entered. General Grant grinned, removed an unlighted cigar stub from his mouth, and stood, extending one hand in greeting. Toby, who had spent nearly four years in the Union Army during the Civil War, had to prevent himself from saluting.

"By God, Holt," the general boomed, "youVe the spitting image of your father. Anybody who knew Whip Holt would know at a glance that you're his son."

Toby often had heard the same comment and invariably was pleased by it. "Thanks very much, sir," he said.

Grant waved him to a chair on the far side of his desk and peered at him from beneath bushy eyebrows. **When was the last time we met?" he asked.

Toby started to speak, but General Grant held up a silencing hand. "No," he roared. "Don t tell me. Let me figure this out for myself. I've got it. The Virginia campaign in sixty-four. You were a troop commander in the Eleventh Cavalry, and you led a charge that helped break the back of the Confederate Cavalry.*'

Toby grinned at him. "You have a remarkably good memory, sir," he said. "You met scores of officers every day."

"Not all of them were cited for valor the way Andy Brentwood cited you, young man," the general said. "I recall you very distinctly. Weill" He picked up his cigar, jammed it into his mouth, and rolled it from one side to the other. **You seem right for the task we have in mind. What do you know about what we have in store for you?"

"A little, sir,** Toby told him. "Colonel Brentwood informed me that there was a serious Indian problem in Dakota and that some of my qualifications might be useful. He also mentioned that my experience in laying out a railroad route for the Northern Pacific might come in handy, as well."

The general guffawed. **'Might be usefull'" he echoed. "'Might come in handyl' I don't know who's guilty of understatement, you or Brentwood. Maybe it's just Andy's dry sense of humor, which I've always enjoyed, but the fact of the matter is that your qualifications are indispensable and your services are essential."

The general paused. "Now, to take things one at a

time. I suppose you know that the Army Corps of Engineers has already surveyed the routes for raihoad lines across the Dakota Territory. Theyll join with the routes that you and young Martin have already surveyed in Montana and Washington.'*

**Yes, sir, I was told that the army was doing the job in Dakota.*'

Grant nodded. "Obviously,** he said, "once the railroad begins to operate, the United States is expecting a great wave of immigration—a veritable tidal wave—into the Dakota, Montana, and Washington territories. It's an exciting prospect. There are thousands and thousands of acres out there of prime land for the establishment of farms. There's equally vast acreage for grazing. Not to mention the minerals available in the mountains and the development of a tremendous lumbering industry that's already under way in Washington."

**Yes, the potential is certainly there," Toby agreed.

The army's chief of staff smiled grimly. "Right now, however, it's only a potential," he said. "So much could still go wrong. But I'm getting ahead of myself." Briskly he continued, "If you agree to come to work for us, one of your first duties will be to travel from one end of Dakota to the other and inspect the engineers' survey routes. You'll be accompanied by a party of army engineers, including oflBcers who've actually worked on the surveys, and theyll be under strict orders to accept your recommendations without question. If there's anything you don't like, just say so. If you want to change the route, that will be your privilege. All this will be spelled out, not only in your orders but in the orders being sent to the commanders in the field."

**You*re giving me a tremendous responsibiHty, General," Toby said. *T hope I can Hve up to it."

"Fin sure you can—and will,** Ulysses Grant told him. **The routes you and Martin charted in Washington and Montana have met with extraordinary approval by members of Congress, and this Dakota link, which has already been roughly mapped, should be nothing compared with those in the other territories. No, it's only a matter of time now before there's a railroad being built in the north as well as the central United States, railroads that will span the continent of North America and bring the Atlantic and Pacific coasts together. But your survey work is only a minor part of the job you'll be doing for us. The other part is far more grave and urgent.

"Before I discuss the precise nature of the assignment with you, however," Grant continued, leaning forward on his desk and lacing his pudgy fingers together, "I want to emphasize again that you're uniquely qualified for this post. You're not only the son of Whip Holt, a man who was a legend in our time, but you're establishing a reputation of your own that is blame near the equal of his."

Toby was embarrassed. "Hardly that, General," he protested.

"Don't be modest, young man," said Grant impatiently. "Not only has Andy Brentwood praised you to the sides, Lee Blake has written that he agrees with everything Andy says about you. Lee is an old associate of mine, whose judgment and honesty I value. The fact he's your stepfather would not sway his opinion one iota."

Toby flushed beneath his tan.

"I'm stressing your reputation, your standing in the West, so to speak, because it has a direct bearing on the assignment. The man who performs this task for us will

need the respect—and the admiration—of the Indian tribes of the area.**

Toby anticipated what was coming and waited cahnly^ while Ulysses Grant lighted a sulfur match with his thumbnail, then applied the flame to the end of the cigar stub.

Speaking through a thick cloud of smoke, the general continued, **As Andy Brentwood*s probably discussed with you, weVe received some very unsettling news from our operatives in the field and from military scouting parties. The chieftains of the Sioux, the Black-foot, and the Cheyenne have met in the Badlands of Dakota and formed an alliance. Its purpose is to drive the settlers out of the West.*'

Toby had indeed been told of the meeting of the Plains tribes. *This means a major Indian war, General," he said, "the first major war with the Indians since Andrew Jackson s time."

Grants face was blurred behind cigar smoke. "Exactly, Holt," he said. **This aUiance can mean a war in the West the likes of which has never been seen. To win such a war the United States will have to send thousands of troops out to Dakota, and even with those troops, the planning and building of the transcontinental railroad will be sorely disrupted. The immigration to the West will come to an end, and setdements, towns, and forts will be destroyed."

"But you and Colonel Brentwood think it will be possible to avoid a war?" Toby asked.

"We do. I do," Grant asserted, and jabbed a finger across his desk in the direction of the younger man. '^There's one way that it can be avoided, and that's through youl You Ve fought the Nez Perce in the Washington Territory, and you acted as a scout for the Elev-

enth Cavalry in their campaign against the Sioux. You grew up learning about the Indians from your father and visiting their villages with him, where he was always welcomed and respected. So you ve commanded their respect and have consistently proved your fairness and your friendship. They have good cause to like you, not to mention that they still revere the memory of Whip Holt.

**WeVe developed a strategy here at the War Department, which is contingent on you. This plan has won the approval of President Johnson. In essense it's very simple. You 11 be crossing the whole of the Dakota Territory while you re inspecting the railroad routes laid out by the Corps of Engineers. While you're in Dakota, it should be easy enough for you to visit every Indian community of any consequence. Talk to the chiefs and the medicine men and the other leaders. When possible, confer with the warriors themselves. These are just suggestions, mind you. You'll have a free hand to handle these towns and villages as you see fit. Convince them, if you can, that if they go through with their scheme and declare war on the United States next year, they are committing suicide."

Toby nodded thoughtfully. He knew he would be able to travel to the Indian villages without harm. Though he carried no wampum to offer the Indians as a pledge of his honorable and friendly intentions, he could speak their languages and could identify himself as the son of Whip Holt. These things would certainly stand him in good stead.

"You must convince the Indians,** Grant went on, his voice rising and hardening, "that this country will do everything in its power to protect the citizens who establish their homesteads on free American soil. We'll tolerate no

kOling, no senseless destruction and theft of property. We'll protect our people with as many troops as it is necessary to put into the field. General Blake, acting on my orders, will send units of the Eighth Cavalry to the Dakota Territory, and Colonel Brentwood in Montana will send in his units, too. And that's just the beginning. If the Indians persist with this war, we re prepared to augment the Eighth and Eleventh cavalries with two other regiments and bring our forces in the territory up to brigade strength. If that's not suflBcient, General Blake is under orders to increase the size of our units to any level he deems necessary, even if he's required to send several full divisions of troops into Dakota and to place the entire area under martial law!"

Toby could understand why Ulysses Grant had been the late President Lincoln's favorite general. He would allow nothing to stand in the way of his goals.

**We have no quarrel with the Indians," Grant continued. "It's our earnest hope that we can live side by side in peace as good neighbors. We're willing to give them large reservations of their own where they can Hve in peace; they will have ample land for farming, hunting and fishing. The choice is theirs," the general said flatly. **The Sioux, the Blackfoot, and the Cheyenne will determine whether there wiU be war or peace. We hope that you can present the alternatives to them in terms that they can grasp and that you'll be able to persuade them not to go to war against us and force us to teach them a lesson theyU never forget."

Toby took a deep breath. "All I can do is to promise you that I'll exert every effort to persuade the Plains Indians to keep the peace."

**Fair enough. Holt," the general said. "Were not asking you to perform the impossible. I'm sending imme-

diate instructions to General Blake to cooperate with you in every way that you see fit. On behalf of the people of the United States, I offer you my thanks for what you re doing."

As Toby shook the hand of Ulysses Grant, the thought occurred to him that he was being placed in a strange situation. Lee Blake was required to put his entire command, the Army of the West, at the disposal of his stepson. Well, that was fair enough. By accepting the assignment, Toby was taking on the burden of a great responsibility. War or peace in the West depended on him.

n

Major General and Mrs. Leland Blake were on hand to greet the wagon train when it arrived at Fort Vancouver. The tall, gray-haired general was very distinguished-looking in his miiform; Eulalia*s dress of soft, green wool flattered her fair skin and dark hair. As they walked the short distance from their house to the parade gi-ound where the wagon train would come to a halt, Lee noted the surreptitious glances cast at his wife by younger officers, and he chuckled quietly.

"You re amazing," he said. "You sure don t look like a woman about to become a grandmother."

She affectionately squeezed his ann but sobered quickly as she said, "All the same, I am going to be a grandmother, and I can t help worrying about Clarissa. I hope this trip wasn't too much for her."

"Im sure she's just fine," Lee replied soothingly. "You know Toby wouldn't have allowed her on the wagon train if he'd had the sHghtest doubt about her health."

When the couple reached the parade ground, they were joined by Eulalia's daughter, Cindy Holt, who had

just finished her day's schooling and still carried several books held together with a leather strap. Just as Toby Holt was the living image of his father, Whip, Cindy also bore a resemblance to her father and had the same sand-colored hair and the same clear, pale blue eyes. She was a pretty girl, having grown out of a tomboy stage. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which emphasized her intelligent, animated face, and she was wearing an attractive white linen dress decorated with lace.

"I can hardly wait to see Clarissa," the sixteen-year-old girl said, "and Beth, too."

There was a moment's awkward pause, and Eulalia deliberately refrained from glancing at her husband. Both of them were conscious of the strained nature of their relations with Beth Martin and had taken pains to avoid talking about her homecoming. But Eulalia, as always, met the situation squarely. *Tm sure they'll both be equally delighted to see you, dear," she replied.

Ever since the outbreak of the Civil War, most immigrants to Portland and its environs had come to Oregon by ship after crossing the Isthmus of Panama by rail. So the arrival of the wagon train was considered a significant event, and many of Portland's citizens had crossed the Columbia River into Washington and were gathered at the parade ground.

A fast-riding scout brought word that the train had been sighted on the road that led to the fort from the north and was on schedule. The carefully planned reception began. A full regiment, eight himdred men strong, the Eighth United States Cavalry, immediately rode out to escort the wagon train to Fort Vancouver. The horsemen were followed by the post band playing the "Battie Hynm of the Republic." An infantry regiment, the Sev-

enteentb, formed a hollow square on the parade ground, while its own band played a medley of patriotic tunes, including "America" and "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean."

At last the approaching wagon train was sighted by those in the fort, and the howitzers of an artillery unit boomed a welcome, making the horses start and shy.

Clarissa, still agile in spite of her pregnancy, was the first to jump from her wagon and break through the lines of the infantry. At her heels was Toby's shepherd dog, Mr. Blake, who, with his ears raised, trotted briskly, apparently enjoying the ceremony. Clarissa enveloped Eulalia in a hug, then hugged Lee Blake and Cindy Holt. As she presented Hank Purcell to the general, his wife, and Cindy, Beth and Rob Martin reached the group.

There was another flurry of excitement as Beth clung to her father. In the flurry of exchanged greetings, Beth managed to avoid embracing her stepmother. She barely looked at her as she nodded coolly and said, "How do you do, Eulalia?"

Certainly Eulalia had not expected to be addressed as **Mother." Beth's mother, Cathy, had been Eulalia s best friend, and she knew how close she had been to her daughter. Eulalia realized she could never take the place of the natural mother in the young woman's affections. All the same, Beth's aloofness was a dehberate slap in the face.

Clarissa, who was conscious of the slight, was embarrassed, as was Rob. But Eulalia refused to accept the snub and proceeded to handle the matter in a typically blunt, forthright manner. She reached out with both hands, caught hold of her stepdaughter s slender shoulders, and pulling her closer, planted a kiss firmly on

each cheek. **I m so glad to see you again, Beth," she said evenly.

Clarissa was pleased. Her mother-in-law, as always, could take care of herself. Rob Martin was dehghted, too, but carefully refrained from showing his pleasure. Beth would take it as a sign of disloyalty to her.

General Blake made a short speech, welcoming the wagon train's immigrants to the Pacific Northwest, and then his entire group withdrew and made the short walk to the Blakes' home. Army personnel had already been sent to attend to the wagons and horses, and they would also see that the belongings of Clarissa and Hank, Rob and Beth, were sent along to the commandant's house.

There was something of a commotion among the reunited Blakes, Martins, and Holts, each trying to talk to the other and attempting to catch up on news. Finally Lee said, **We're blocking traflBc spread out this way across the whole road. Cindy, why don t you show Hank the way?"

As they walked, Rob explained, as tactfully as possible, that he and Beth could remain only a single night. **We re going on to my folks' house tomorrow for a quick visit," he said, "and then we're going on to San Francisco. I'm wanted for my new job as fast as I can get up into the Sierra Nevada."

Lee raised an eyebrow and turned to his daughter. *What are you intending to do in San Francisco?" he asked.

Her voice was bland, her smile saccharine. "Why, I'm planning to Hve there, Daddy," she said.

Rob intervened at once. **We've decided it might be wise for Beth to live in San Francisco," he said, "so that I can be with her whenever I can snatch some time off. If she stayed here, she'd be so far away that I might not

see her for a whole year. Fd lose too much time traveling."

Everyone appeared to accept the reason, but Eulalia knew better. When Toby had surveyed a route for the railroad in the mountains of Washington, he frequently had found—or had made—the time to return home for visits to his family. The truth was that Beth was avoiding living under the same roof with her stepmother. For the present, however, EulaUa decided not to make an issue of the matter.

Meanwhile, Cindy, bringing up the rear with Hank PurceU trudging beside her, was uncomfortable.

The boy, falling all over himself like so many of the young males she knew at school, was staring at her steadily, unblinldngly, and his scrutiny made her nervous. *'Is there a smudge of dirt on my faceF' she demanded in exasperation. "Is my dress torn, or is there a hole in it?"

Hank remained blissfully unaware of the reasons for her irritation. **No, ma'am," he said. "Leastwise, I haven't seen any of those things."

The girl became even more annoyed. "Then I wish you d stop gaping at mel You act as though you've never seen a girl before!"

Hank pushed his big-crowned, broad-brimmed hat to the back of his head and, reaching under it, scratched his scalp. "Blamed if I thought of it that way," he said, **but you're right. I haven't ever seen a lady of your age before, much less met one." He swallowed hard. **If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

Cindy thought he was having fun at her expense and sniffed disdainfully. *Tm sixteen."

Hank looked amazed. "I could have sworn that you were close to Clarissa's age."

The assumption that she was an adult mollified the girl somewhat. Then her curiosity got the better of her. **You were just teasing me, weren t you, when you said you ve never met any girls?^

Hank shook his head vehemently and swallowed hard. "No, ma'am/* he said. **Svire as mares have colts, you re the first one I ever set eyes on!**

She found it impossible to believe him. "How could that be?**

**Pa and me,** he said, "had us a Httle spread on the Montana frontier. We didn't have any neighbors, and we were too busy raising cattle and hunting to socialize much.**

Cindy shook her head. "But surely, at school—"

"I never went to school,** Hank interjected. "Pa taught me blame near all I know about reading and writing and doing numbers, and after I moved to Fort Shaw, Clarissa and Beth started pestering me with an education.**

Cindy concluded that he was an oafish simpleton.

The boy continued to gaze at her steadily. **You*re Whip Holfs daughter,** he said at last

Cindy nodded, unwilling to listen to a long-winded, hero-worshipping recital about her father.

"You look like Toby,** Hank said.

The girl nodded her head. "We take after our papa,** she repUed.

"Toby,** Hank announced, "is ri^t handy with firearms. I guess he inherited his talent from his pa, just like I inherited mine from my pa.*'

Cindy, detecting a hint of bragging in his voice, couldn't resist replying, "As I just told you, I have some of my father in me, too. I'm a pretty fair shot myself."

Hank looked at her in openmouthed amazement. "You?*' he asked. "You re just a girll"

Her face flushed with anger. "I may be *just a girl/ but ril outshoot you any day of the weekl With any firearms you care to use!"

The boy became uncomfortable. He had actually killed a man—his father's murderer—and his skill with a gun was superior. "You shouldn't go challenging me," he told her. "I'm nearly as good a shot as Toby is."

"So am I," Cindy replied spiritedly. "Are you going to have a contest with me, or are you too big a coward?"

Hank drew himself up to his full height and towered above her. "You just talked yourself into a contest, ma'am," he said, "and you're going to be sorry. Come to think of it, let's make this a competition where you'll be double aforry. We'll make it both rifle and pistol shooting."

"That suits me just fine," Cindy replied tartly, and swept past him into the Blake house.

Beth had claimed a headache, and Rob had gone with her to their room; the others were gathered in the living room. Cindy hurried into the room ahead of Hank, anxious to tell them about the contest

Clarissa and Eulalia were deep in conversation with Lee, talking about the assignment that Toby had gone to Washington City to receive from General Grant. What they were eager to learn—and what even Lee didn't know yet—was what role Toby was going to be asked to play in the problems in Dakota. They were still pondering this as Cindy told about the contest. Indeed, the women were so immersed in thought that they failed to hear the tone of belligerence in Cindy's voice, and Clarissa smiled benignly.

"I'm glad you two are getting acquainted," she said.

''Your mother tells me, Cindy, that youTl be glad to show Hank around school and teach him what*s what."

Cindy looked reproachfully at her mother. "No, Mamal" she cried. "I'd be mortified half to death to have this dumb galoot of a boy tagging around school after me. What would my friends say?"

EulaHa was sweet-tempered but firm. "Your friends," she said, "will be very pleased to meet Hank. You will indeed take him under your wing and show him around the school.**

Cindy knew there was no appeal from her mothers decision, so she heaved a long, deep sigh.

It was Hank's turn to glower as he looked at Clarissa. **It's bad enough that you re sending me to school!" he said. "Do I have to go with girls?*'

Clarissa was unyielding. ^Tou're very fortunate, Hank. Since you'll be living here in the commandant's house, you qualify for admission to the Fort Vancouver school, and that's where you're going, beginning first thing tomorrow morning."

Lee Blake knew the boy needed to be convinced about the benefits to be derived from an education, but he realized that this was not an appropriate moment. Both of the adolescents needed to let off steam, so he intervened smoothly. "If you're interested in holding that shooting contest right now," he said, "the oflBcers' practice range isn't occupied, and I can arrange to have you use it."

**The sooner the better," Cindy snapped.

Hank was awed by the tall, gray-haired man who

wore the two stars of a major general on each shoulder.

"I'm ready right now, sir," he said, "if you'll give me a

few minutes to go fetch my rifle and my six-shooter."

**That won't be necessary," Lee told him. "We have

plenty of weapons at the range. In fact, to ensure fairness in a contest of this sort, both of you should use weapons that are unfamiliar to you."

"Let me just run upstairs to change into an old skirt," Cindy called, and she was gone in an instant.

Cindy and Hank avoided each other as they walked across the grounds of Fort Vancouver to the shooting range. However, the girl was conscious that the boy continued to study her, a puzzled expression on his face.

When they arrived at the range, Lee asked the young lieutenant in charge to provide them with identical weapons, two of the six-shooter pistols that had proved their worth so emphatically during the Civil War and two old-fashioned, single-shot rifles. While the lieutenant was fetching the weapons and ammunition, a master sergeant set up the targets a hundred feet away. The life-sized representations of Sioux warriors had been painted by this same sergeant, who was a veteran Indian fighter.

**Rifles or pistols?*' Lee asked. "Which do you want to shoot first?**

"Lady*s choice,** Hank replied laconically.

The three adults sensed the change ia the boy's mood. Once the firearms had appeared, he became quietly purposeful, businesslike, and absorbed.

'•We'll start v^dth pistols,** Cindy said.

**Colt six-shooters,** Hank said, "have the kick of an Arapaho mule, and they*re likely to fly out of a girFs hand. I wouldn*t mind if my opponent wanted to substitute a lighter weapon, say, a twenty-two caUber pistol."

"1*11 use exactly the same kind of gun he uses,*' Cindy said stubbornly.

Lee placed the two six-shooters and a box of cartridges on a wooden table that separated one shooting lane from the next. "Help yourselves," he said.

Cindy took infinite care as she loaded her pistol, inserting the shells into the empty chambers meticulously, one at a time. Hank, however, tested the gun before loading it, holding it up, squinting down the barrel, and pulling the trigger several times to test its resistance. Then he filled all six chambers in virtually a single, continuous motion.

"You may fire when ready,** General Blake said.

Cindy promptly raised her pistol to eye level, looked down the barrel at the figure of the Sioux brave, and squeezed the trigger, noting that her bullet had landed in the brave's shoulder. She nodded in satisfaction and fired a second time, again pausing to see where the bullet had gone and to judge her next shot accordingly.

Hank stood very still watching her as she fired her third and fourth shots, and it was apparent that he was impressed. Then he appeared to put his opponent out of his mind. He stared hard at the target for a long moment, raised his pistol, and emptied all six chambers in such rapid succession that they sounded almost Uke a single shot. He lowered the weapon again and let it dangle at his side as Cindy completed her fifth and sixth shots.

Lee Blake motioned the party toward the targets and led the group toward Cindy's, which he examined first All six bullets had struck the target. One had landed in a leg, another in a shoulder, and a third in an arm. The remaining three would probably have been fatal; one had penetrated a cheekbone, another had cut into the figiure's chin, and the final shot had landed near the waist. "Very nice, Cindy," the general said. "You'd qualify as a marksman in any imit under my command.**

The girl flushed at the compliment.

Lee led the way to Hank Purcell's target and stopped

short, staring in astonishment, as did the lieutenant and the sergeant.

Cindy was nonplussed. All six of her opponent's shots had landed within a radius no larger than a silver dollar, all of them centered on the figure's heart

Hank appeared to take his marksmanship for granted. He accepted the congratulations of General Blake and the soldiers quietly.

They walked back to the table, where the general handed the boy and girl the cumbersome, old-fashioned rifles and opened a box of cartridges. "This," he said, as the sergeant placed fresh targets at the opposite end of the range, **is going to be more diflScult. You 11 have to reload your rifles after each shot. You 11 have exactly two minutes from the time I order you to fixe luitil you hear the cease-fire order. Dining that time, you're free to fire as many or as few shots as you like at your target. Both accuracy and the number of shots will determine your final score.**

The contestants nodded.

Not wanting to waste time after the order to fire was given. Hank raised the rifle to his shoulder, looked down the barrel, and experimentally pulled the trigger several times. Cindy pretended to be unaware of what he was doing.

"Fire at will,** General Blake said.

Cindy lost no time and methodically loaded the rifle in the manner that her late father and brother had taught her. She was painstaking, careful, and thorough. She raised the weapon to her shoulder, sighted down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger.

In the meantime. Hank reacted as though devils were pursuing him. He loaded his rifle, then raised and fired it in almost one continuous motion. Not waiting for the

smoke to clear or to examine how accurate he had been, he instantly reloaded and fired again.

When two minutes had passed and General Blake called a halt, Cindy had made a creditable showing and had fired her rifle twice. Hank, however, had fired six shots in all, averaging one every twenty seconds. When they approached the targets, with Lee Blake in the lead, they saw that Cindy had done well. One of her shots had chpped an ear of the target, and the other had landed in an arm. Either would have been enough to incapacitate an enemy.

But all six of Hank's shots were lethal: He had shot out the eyes of the target, then had made a small, tight circle in the center of the forehead.

"YouVe done well, Cindy. Tm proud of you," her stepfather said, then turned to the boy, his hand outstretched. "If you were a few years older, Td hire you as an instructor right here at the range. Do well in school, and ril personally recommend you for an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point."

Hank flushed with pleasure. He had long taken his prowess with firearms for granted, and it was almost inconceivable to him that an ojfficer with the exalted rank of a major general should praise him.

Cindy made a great effort and forced herself to extend her hand. **That was nice shooting. Hank,** she said. "You beat me fair and square."

He gripped her hand so hard that she winced. "Heck,** he said, reddening even more, "Fd kick myself from here to the Atlantic Ocean and back if I couldn't shoot better than a girl.**

The lieutenant and sergeant, who were taking in the scene, smiled; Cindy did not. She wiped her hands on her skirt as though she had touched something unclean.

As they walked back to the house, General Blake, strolling with the boy, enlarged on the theme of the need for Hank to acquire an education. "I can see now,** he said, "why Clarissa was so insistent that you come to Fort Vancouver. You have an eye and an instinct for marksmanship that are very rare. Left to your own devices, you d have found it necessary to earn a hving, and it's possible that you'd have become a gunslinger. In no time at all, you'd have fomid yourself outside the law, and you'd have wound up with yoiu* name on wanted posters in every U.S. post office in the West. But you have a far different future in store for you, beHeve me. I'm going to make certain that you study your fool head off and that you pass the West Point entrance examinations with flying colors."

**You really think I can qualify for the academy, sir? You really think I'm going to be able to go to school there?"

"You attend to yotir end of the bargain, and I'll guarantee you that you'll become a second heutenant in the service of your country."

The boy's euphoria was so great that he did not notice Cindy's reaction. She Hstened to her stepfather in stimned disbehef. Hank Purcell was an oaf, in no way qualified to become an army officer.

When they reached the house, Cindy hastily excused herself and went upstairs to her bedchamber. Her mother and sister-in-law were in the room directly across the hall, where EulaHa was helping Clarissa impack. They called to Cindy, and she reluctantly joined them.

Eulalia smiled at her teenage daughter. "Who won the shooting match?" she asked innocently.

**Hank, of course," Cindy snapped. *1 guess shooting is the stupid boy's one accompKshment."

Clarissa ignored the slur. **He is a remarkable marksman/' she said. "According to Toby, Hank's already the equal of any adult, and if he continues to practice, he'll be in a class by himself in a few years."

"How very impressive,** Eulalia said.

**Well, Tm glad he's good for something,** Cindy said furiously, '^because in my opinion he*s the most miserable excuse for a human being Fve ever seen! I'll show him around school, and I'll introduce him to everybody—because you want me to—but that's where I draw the line. I wouldn't want a single person I know to think that disgusting boy is a friend of minel" Turning on her heel, she stalked out, went into her bedroom, and slammed the door.

Eulalia smiled painfully, then shook her head. **I was sixteen so many years ago," she said, "that I honestly can't remember it being such a horrendous age.**

Clarissa giggled. "Cindy is mistaken," she said, "if she thinks she's going to walk all over Hank. He's tough—because he's had to be. I'll bet they become close friends— if they don't kill each other first."

Rob and Beth left Fort Vancouver the following day to see his parents in Portland. Dr. Martin and Tonie enjoyed the visit of the yoimg people, and the occasion was much livelier than the visit Beth had paid her father and stepmother, for she had kept to her room almost the entire time.

Then the young couple left for California by steamboat, which now made daily trips along the coast between Portland and San Francisco. Putting oflF a decision to buy a house until Rob finished his work on the railroad, they checked in at the Palace Hotel, where they

had spent their honeymoon. While Beth settled in, Rob looked up the Harrises, who said they would be glad to entertain Beth while she stayed in the city.

Rob could not even spend the night in San Francisco, for he was wanted immediately for his work on the railroad line in the Sierra Nevada. The time for leave-taking had come, and seeing that Beth was comfortably installed in a suite in the hotel, he prepared to depart. Looking at her fidgeting in a stuffed armchair, he curbed a desire to sigh. *T hope to goodness you re going to be all right,** he said.

There was a note of suspense and excitement in Beth's laugh. **Why shouldn't I be all right?" she demanded. 'There's no better or safer place in all of San Francisco than this hotel."

**! know,** Rob replied glumly, unable to shake off a strange sense of foreboding. Still reluctant to go, he said, *Tou have ample funds, and if you need more, you have only to apply to Chet Harris for them. Don t be afraid to spend money. That's why we have it.**

"I refuse to be foolish about that,** she said, *T3ut I wont argue the point.**

He didnt want to argue about anything. "1*11 admit to you," he said, **that Fm worried for you. You re young, youre very beautiful, and you*re wealthy enough to be a target of the unscrupulous. Be careful of the friendships you make and always keep in mind that the Harrises are nearby if you need real friends."

*1 wont forget,** she promised, though she really had no desire to accept invitations from the stuffy Harrises. Tired of his lecturing, she sHd her arms aroimd his neck and kissed him.

That gesture ended the discussion with finality.

Rob embraced her, then pulled himself away. Til come down from the mountains to see you whenever I can. You can bet on that," he said as he hurried toward the door.

A moment later Beth was alone. On sudden impulse she walked to the table. On it stood a half-empty bottle of champagne from which she and Rob had consumed a farewell drink. She refilled her glass, then held it aloft. "Here's to me," she said, "and to my new life as a free woman."

One of the Sioux villages was located on the edge of the Badlands; it was a small community made up of a number of tepees, a corral for horses, and little else. The inhabitants subsisted on the deer and bufiFalo that the hunters brought back from the woods and prairies; the squaws grew few vegetables because the soil here, like that of the Badlands itself, was too poor to grow good crops.

What made this village noteworthy was the chief who ruled it. Tall Stone, who was named after the odd-shaped figures that dotted the Badlands. Tall Stone was of average height, stocky, with a barrel chest, brawny arms, and thick, stubby fingers. His large stomach indicated his love of food and, when he could get it, the rum and beer of the white man.

Tall Stone was highly regarded by Thunder Cloud and the other leaders of the Sioux; he had fought with distinction in the battle in which the Sioux had confronted the Eleventh United States Cavalry. He was also an acknowledged leader in the movement to form a solid aUiance with the Blackfoot and the Cheyenne. More than this, the reputation of Tall Stone, now in early

middle age, rested on his undying hatred for all white settlers who dared to invade the lands of his people.

No one knew exactly why Tall Stone's temper was so violent and his nature was so cruel. No one dared ask him. It was rumored, however, that more than three decades earlier, when he had been a very young warrior, he had suffered excruciating embarrassment at the hands of Whip Holt. According to the story, he had accosted the great frontiersman, who had been trapping and trading in Dakota, and the Indian had been deliberately insulting. Holt had refused to duel with him, saying that he didn't believe in senseless killing, and when Tall Stone had persisted, the mountain man had uncoiled his famous whip from his waist and had thrashed the young brave. Ever since that day. Tall Stone had been the sworn enemy of everyone who claimed allegiance to the United States.

Despite Tall Stone's love of food and drink, he was still a warrior to be feared, and his threats against the white man had not been idle. In his time he had taken many scalps—of men, women, and even children—and he proudly wore a necklace of human teeth, taken, he said, from the settlers who had dared to set foot in the Dakota Territory. Even his own people were known to cringe when they saw him coming.

Now the residents of the village were astonished because he was preparing to entertain a party of white people. Ma Hastings, the cutthroat leader of a notorious bandit gang, had, like the Indians, also left the Montana Territory because of the presence of so many troops. In Montana Ma*s son and chief lieutenant, Chfford, had been killed by Toby Holt while the gang was about to raid a settler s ranch, and Ma had vowed she would not rest until Toby Holt was dead.

Now a special meeting had been arranged between Ma Hastings and Tall Stone, and several tepees had been erected for the use of the visitors. The chief obtained the services of two squaws as cooks, and he commandeered the nineteen-year-old Gentle Doe to serve his guests and himself.

Everyone in the village knew that the chieftain lusted after Gentle Doe. They also were aware that the aptly named maiden, as lovely as she was shy, wanted no part of Tall Stone, and with good reason. Since earliest childhood she had feared his temper tantrums, his cruelties, and his vicious mistreatment of anyone who crossed his wiU.

Gentle Doe's parents were no longer alive, however, and as an orphan she was not in a position to determine her own destiny. Under the unwritten laws of the Sioux, she had to accept any man whom the chief instructed her to marry. But not even Tall Stone was going to force her into marriage with him against her will. He was too proud for that, and he contented himself with the belief that she would come to him in her own good time.

Now Gentle Doe went to the pit where an outdoor cooking fire was burning and vigorously stirred the pot containing the stew the older squaws had made. In it were chunks of venison, carrots, kale, dried green peas, pickled sugar beets, and pieces of celery root.

Tall Stone stood nearby, his eyes fixed on Gentle Doe as he observed every move she made. The intensity of his gaze made her nervous, and she said the first thing that came to mind as she went to the stack of govuds that would be used to serve the stew. "How many guests will Tall Stone entertain today?*'

"Two will share with me, and you will serve us," Tall

Stone said succinctly. **The others, seven or eight warriors in all, will go and dine with the unmarried warriors. They will be served by the old squaws.**

He still scrutinized her, and Gentle Doe felt she had to say something to ease the feeling of being devoured by his eyes, **Your guests are Sioux from another villager

Tall Stone shook his head. **They are not Sioux," he said. **They have pale skins."

Despite herself, Gentle Doe stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Because she kept to herself as much as possible, she was one of the few people in the village who did not know Tall Stone was meeting with whites.

He realized she was shocked, and his thin lips twisted in a lopsided grin that more closely resembled a grimace. "Gentle Doe," he asked, "has heard of the woman who is called Ma Hastings?"

She shook her head.

**Her fellow paleskins are her enemies, Just as they are the enemies of Tall Stone. She is the head of a gang of robbers and bandits that preys on settlers and steals their horses and cattle. When they object, she kills them, just as I, too, slaughter them."

The young Indian woman shuddered.

"She had two sons," Tall Stone continued, "but one of tibem was killed by Toby Holt—may the gods strike him with a bolt of lightning. Now she has only one son, whose mind and will have been softened by the strong drink of the paleskins. It is said that he is useless, but this is something I will judge for myself. Ma Hastings and her son, Ralph, will be my guests at supper."

Gentle Doe wondered what Tall Stone and Ma

Hastings could have in common, but something he had said intrigued her far more. Like all Sioux, she had heard about Toby Holt and was famiUar with stories about the valor of his father. **Gentle Doe did not know that Tall Stone was the enemy of Toby Holt," she said softly.

He nodded, his jaw set, his eyes fiery. In the battle that the Sioux had fought with the Eleventh Cavalry, Tall Stone had been bested by Toby Holt, though they had not met face to face. From a place of conceahnent. Holt—and it definitely was Toby Holt, according to braves who had seen him—had shot Tall Stone's hand. The Sioux chief, fibading himself weaponless, was suddenly surrounded by soldiers, who forced him to flee from the Sioux stronghold in the Montana mountains. This defeat, linked to his earlier humiliation by Whip Holt, increased the Sioux chieftain's rage against all white men, but particularly the Holts.

**Tall Stone and Ma Hastings," he said triumphantly, "will sign an alHance in blood and will swear that they will not rest until Toby Holt breathes no more." He laughed coarsely. "Also, we will sign another pact to support each other in raids on the paleskin settlers in Dakota and Montana."

Gentle Doe could not help feeling sorry for the women and children who would be killed. She said nothing, however. She had seen Tall Stone lose his temper with others, and she wanted to take no risks. She hurried back to the fire and tended the stew, stirring it more vigorously than was necessary.

While she busied herself, a party of nine horsemen arrived on the scene, and glancing up at them, she thought them highly disreputable and unkempt. Their hats and coats were covered with dust, and it looked as if they

hadn't bathed in a long time. Only their horses seemed well tended and healthy, no doubt because they had been stolen from someone else.

All but two of the newcomers rode oflF to the opposite end of the village with the braves who were their escorts. The pair who remained behind and dismounted were Tall Stone's guests.

The elder, wearing a faded shirt and worn trousers tucked into shabby boots, removed a broad-brimmed, high-crowned hat, and Gentle Doe saw a mop of gray hair, only slightly longer than a man s. The mouth was thin and stern, and the eyes, like Tall Stone's, were hard.

It was diflBcult for the Indian woman to beheve she was looking at a female. Gentle Doe knew at a glance that Ma Hastings would show no mercy to her victims. Her walk was a rolling swagger, her laugh was husky and guttural, and there was nothing feminine in her manner.

Ralph Hastings, dressed like his mother, had a weak chin and small, bloodshot eyes. He staggered as he made his way toward the fire; it was apparent that he was drunk.

Tall Stone and Ma Hastings wasted no time in getting down to business. They immediately began planning a raid on a village of settlers located in Montana just past the border where the Dakota Badlands ended, and they signed a pact in blood, both cutting their forearms with their knives and letting their blood mix together in a small pool on the ground. They also swore a pact to destroy Toby Holt, but they decided to wait for the right opportunity before putting that plan into operation.

Trying to shut the unpleasant conversation from her

mind. Gentle Doe served gourds filled with venison stew and smaller containers into which she spooned a Sioux deUcacy of commeal, known as soft bread.

All at once the Indian woman reahzed Ralph Hastings was gaping at her. The young man was sobering up with a great efiEort, and he seemed stimned by what he saw.

Gentle Doe knew that she was a good-looking woman and that she had a trim, supple figure. But no man had ever regarded her with such wonder.

It was unfortunate, she thought, that Ralph Hastings was a drunkard. Had he been a real man of substance and stature, she might have appealed to him to help her to escape from the village and the fate that undoubtedly awaited her there when Tall Stone finally insisted that she marry him.

Charles Dickens, acclaimed as the greatest novelist in the English-speaking world, took the United States by storm on his tour of the country. Every seat was occupied when he gave readings of his works, the cheering that greeted him in the streets befitted an international hero, and hostesses competed for the honor of entertaining him at dinner.

Nowhere was his welcome warmer than in San Francisco. The bawdy, rough gold-rush town was already becoming a Uterary center in the nation second only to New York, with Mark Twain and Brett Harte taking up residence there. The first of Dickens's appearances at Metropolitan Hall, one of the largest edifices of its kind on the Pacific Coast, sold out so quickly that two additional readings were scheduled. The first was a very special occasion, a charity event sponsored by Mrs. Collis Huntington, wife of the wealthy railroad specula-

tor, for iihe building of a new hospital. All of San Francisco society turned out for the event, the ladies wearing expensive gowns and their best jewelry, the gentlemen wearing white ties and tailcoats.

Prominent in one of the center boxes were two of the leading financiers of California, Chet Harris and his partner, Wong Ke, who escorted their wives, Clara Lou and Mei Lo. Separately and together, the pair owned gold mines, which had been responsible for the start of their fortunes; vast quantities of real estate in the biu:-geoning city; and interests in newspapers, hotels, shipping lines, and many other businesses. The partners led a quiet social Ufe, entertaining only close friends and business associates, and they went out only on very special occasions, such as this one.

Their wives were equally discreet. Although Clara Lou Harris and Wong Mei Lo could have worn the most expensive gowns of any ladies present and could have ghttered with diamonds and pearls, they were dressed quietly and their jewelry was not ostentatious.

Idly, indulgently, the quartet watched the great and near-great, the cream of San Francisco society, arriving and being shown to seats. Suddenly Chet stiflFened.

Moving slowly down the center aisle was an attractive young woman with blond hair piled on her head in the fashion of the time. Her face was made up with as much care as that of an actress. She wore a skintight ofiE-the-shoulder gown of black silk, with a cape of white fox thrown carelessly over one shoulder. Her earrings were long, dangling strands of diamonds and matched a diamond necklace and a double cu£F of diamonds on her wrist.

Following her were two escorts, one of them a young

shipping magnate, the other, in full-dress uniform, an army lieutenant colonel stationed at the Presidio.

Chet had last seen Beth when she and Rob had come to San Francisco for their honeymoon, and at that time Beth had looked nothing like the way she did tonight Since her recent arrival in the city, he and his wife had invited Beth to dinner—as they had promised Rob—but she had decHned, saying she had a prior engagement. Now seeing her make such a brazen entrance, Chet muttered, "My God."

*What is it, dear?** Clara Lou asked, turning to him. Chefs brown-haired, pretty wife was still as composed and self-confident as she had been when he first met her in Colorado seven years earlier, though she had put on a few pounds and had taken on a somewhat matronly appearance.

"Look there," Chet told her. Thafs Rob Martin's wife-Lee and Cathy Blake's girl."

"She*s not really a girl anymore, dear," Clara Lou replied dryly.

He failed to appreciate his wife's humor. "Where in thunderation did she get all those gems, do you suppose?"

"I imagine she bought them, or her husband bought them for her," Clara Lou replied bhthely. "After all, Rob Martin and Toby Holt own an extremely profitable gold mine."

"True enough," he replied gloomily, "and that's probably why she has two escorts. The fortune hunters of the town have sniffed her out."

"Really, Chet, you're exaggerating," Clara Lou said, but her words were made inaudible by the storm of applause that greeted Charles Dickens as he came onto the stage and stepped up to the podiimi.

For the next hour Chet fidgeted in his seat, unable to concentrate on the readings, which included selections from Dickens's latest book, Our Mutual Friend, with the author occasionally interspersing anecdotes about his travels in America and Europe. Then Dickens took an intermission, promising his audience that when he returned, he would be reading to them from his favorite among his books, David Copperfield,

Chet turned to Wong Ke and to Mei Lo. **You remember Beth and Rob Martin, the young married couple who were children of people who came to Oregon with me on the wagon train when I was a boy? You met them at our house for dinner when they came down to San Francisco for their honeymoon. Well, that young woman who came waltzing down the aisle in the black silk dress, diamonds, and fox cape is Beth. She's sitting down front now, with an escort on either side of her."

Wong Ke grinned and nodded. "Certainly, we remember," he said. "We saw her when she came in."

"She looks pretty tonight," said the petite, black-haired Mei Lo, who found it impossible to say anything bad about anybody. "She looks very pretty."

"If you ask me," Chet said glumly, "she looks like one of the courtesans for whom San Francisco has become infamous."

His Chinese partner laughed. "Now you exaggerate, Chet," he said.

"Not at all," was the stubborn reply. "She's half-naked, her face is painted, and she's wearing enough jewelry to decorate a Christmas tree. And to top it all off, she waltzed down the aisle with two men, not one. Look at her now, flirting and laughing with them."

**I see your point, dear/' Clara Lou said mildly, **but I can't help wondering if you re exaggerating a bit/*

"I think not,** her husband said firmly. "Remember, Rob told us that Beth was going to be Uving in San Francisco in the Palace Hotel while he was oflF in the Sierra Nevada. There's no telling when he'll be coming back here. Meanwhile, her clothes, her cosmetics, everything about her—including her attitude—indicate that she's a rich, spoiled young lady looking for trouble. You know this town as well as I know it, Ke, and you've got to admit there are a lot of unattached men in San Francisco who would be just deUghted to provide Beth with that trouble."

**I see what you mean,** his partner repHed slowly. "I suppose you're right."

"She struck me," Mei Lo said, **at least on the occasion when I met her, as a very . . . inexperienced young lady."

"She doesn't know her way around a city like San Francisco," Chet agreed. "She's had social standing all her life, being the daughter of a high-ranking army officer. She's always been a Uttle spoiled and headstrong. Now she's rich to boot, with a husband who's oflF on an assignment that will keep them separated for months at a time. Most of all, she's young and could have her head easily turned."

Clara Lou nodded slowly. "Im afraid I must agree with you on that score, Chet, dear," she said. "She is very young and naive."

"I don't know quite what well do about it," Chet said, **but I do know that Rob—and Lee and Eulalia Blake-are counting on me to prevent the girl from getting into

trouble." Grimly he added, "I intend to live up to my responsibility to them. She may have avoided us since she's been here, but Fm not going to avoid her any longer. I intend to see that she gets back in line.**

m

Chet Harris sat in his handsomely furnished, mahogany-paneled ofiBce overlooking San Francisco Bay, but he ignored the spectacular view, just as he paid scant attention to the stream of documents and papers that crossed his desk. He could not get Beth Martin out of his mind.

As he and Clara Lou had discussed the previous night after they had arrived home, Beth did not appear to have gone wrong yet. But the potential for stumbling was very much present, and this was something that Chet was determined to prevent. He owed it to her husband, and even more so, to her father and to her stepmother. Years ago on that first wagon train to Oregon, when Chet had been a teenager traveling with his widowed mother and brothers, Lee and Eulalia had been his good friends. They had remained so after they had settled in their new homes and Chet had gone out to make his own way in the world. Though he had found success and fortune, Chet was still indebted to these people.

The previous evening, he and Clara Lou had concluded that Beth was enjoying the first real freedom she had ever known after Hving a circumspect life as the daughter of a high-ranking military ofiBcer. Thanks to the gold mine her husband shared with Toby Holt, she could afford whatever luxuries she now wanted, as opposed to living frugally on her family's U.S. government salary.

Clara Lou, drawing on her years of experience as a woman who had to live by her wits (she had even operated a successful gambling establishment in Denver's rough-and-tumble earlier days), had understood yet another aspect of the young woman. In spite of Beth's provocative clothes and makeup, not to mention her flirtatiousness, she was not really looking to have an affair. Clara Lou felt certain that Beth was just exercising her high spirits and independence. Clara Lou had seen many women like Beth, who regarded their marriages as shields that enabled them to defy conventions. They thought their wedding rings protected them and that the men who escorted them would respect their marriages. Like Beth, they were naive, perhaps, but not wicked.

Despite what Clara Lou had told him, Chet was not very reassured. Sighing heavily, he tugged his waistcoat down over his growing paunch and did his best to put Beth Martin out of his mind. One of the company's brightest young executives, Leon Graham, a nephew of Clara Lou's, came into his office. Spreading documents on the desk, young Graham spoke confidently, outlining each problem and suggesting a solution. Chet listened attentively, and in every case agreed.

Leon Graham, he reflected, was one of the company's most valuable employees. Not yet thirty years of age, he was earnest and hard-working, the first to arrive at the

office every morning and the last to leave every evening. Even though the mothers of many ehgible yomig women had thrust their daughters at him, he was still a bachelor and Hved a quiet, circumspect life in a small, neat house on Nob Hill, where he was attended by a staff of servants. From the Httle Chet had gleaned about him, he engaged in regular physical exercise, he ate and drank in moderation, and he avoided the gambling casinos and brothels that were San Francisco's legacy of the gold rush days. What he did with his spare time, and who his friends were, neither Chet nor Clara Lou knew, but certainly few young men seemed as upstanding.

A sudden idea came to Chet. Perhaps Leon could be persuaded to see something of Beth Martin socially and by acting as her escort, prevent less honorable men from endangering her.

When he went home for dinner that noon, Chet mentioned his thought to Clara Lou. "He'd be a perfect escort for Beth," she said happily, '*and she'd be good for him, too. From what I've gatbered, he spends far too many of his evenings home alone. I'll invite both of them to dinner, and 111 ask Leon to escort Beth to our house.**

When Chet returned to his office after dinner, he gave his wife's invitation to Leon, while the Harris butler took Beth's to the Palace Hotel.

Both accepted, Beth realizing she could not put off any longer a visit to the Harrises. The following evening Leon stopped off at her hotel to take her to the Harris house in his carriage. By the time they arrived, they were chatting easily, like old friends.

Beth's gown of gauzeHke silk was subtle and, at first glance, appeared quite modest; actually it revealed ev-

ery line of her lovely figure. She was animated and sparkling, and her blond hair glistened. Clara Lou had seen few young women more attractive.

Certainly Leon Graham seemed fascinated by her. Chet, taking no chances, made several pointed references about Beth's husband, Rob, and discussed his current mission in the Sierra Nevada at some length.

Leon chatted about the state of grand opera in the city, and Beth proved quite informed on the subject, demonstrating that she had acquired a taste for San Francisco culture in a short time. When Leon mentioned a production of Hamlet the following evening in which the great actor, Edwin Booth, would appear, Beth responded with enthusiasm.

The young man lost no time. Terhaps," he said, "you would do me the honor of coming with me to tomorrow evening's performance? And join me for supper after-ward?*'

'Td love it," Beth replied without hesitation. Thanks so much."

Chet and Clara Lou exchanged quick, satisfied glances.

Wanting to make sure that Leon understood what was expected of him, Chet called« him into his office the following morning. *1 hope you won t take offense at what I have to say," the older man told him, ''but your aunt and I feel it's wise to clarify certain situations immediately. Beth Martin is an uncommonly pretty and vivacious girl."

*Trhere's no question about that," Leon answered, grinning broadly.

**As the daughter of a major general, she's Hved in all parts of the United States—"

"I didn't know her father was a general,** Leon mter-rupted in surprise.

**Indeed,'' Chet said. **He*s commander of the Army of the West."

Impressed, Leon whistled softly imder his breath.

**In spite of having had certain advantages—or perhaps because of them—she's more naive than she appears to be," Chet went on.

Leon looked blank.

Chet decided to pull no punches. ''If I were your age," he said, "and a bachelor to boot, I might easily be misled by the way she looks and acts. But don't get any wrong ideas. She's very much in love with her husband, as he is with her, and she'd be outraged if you or anyone else were to make advances to her." No one, Chet told himself, could be plainer than that.

Leon's eyes widened. "I assure you, sir," he said earnestly, "I'm not for a single moment forgetting that Beth is a respectable married lady. I enjoy her company, and I flatter myseK that she likes mine. But I'm very aware that there are limits to our acquaintance."

Chet was reHeved. "Good," he said. "We understand each other, so there's an end to the matter."

As Leon made his way down the corridor to his own office, his lips froze in a half-smile. He had said what his employer and uncle by marriage had wanted to hear, which was something Leon made a point of doing. What Leon had told Chet about his intentions for Beth, however, was far from the truth. He couldn't remember a time when he had been as fascinated by a woman as he was by Beth Martin. He intended to explore every facet of her nature, and he told himself that there would be no holds barred.

• « «

Toby Holt traveled by rail from Washington City to Minnesota, where he had left his stallion at Fort Snelling with an old army colleague. Staying only overnight at the fort, he set out early the next morning for the Dakota Territory.

It was late fall. Toby enjoyed himself immensely as he traveled on horseback to Dakota, maintaining a brisk pace. He was so eager to start in on his assignment that he often rode through the night, taking only short rests for himself and his horse.

As he rode, he pondered what was in store for him when he arrived in the Dakota Territory and began his work for the government. But he could make no concrete plans at the moment. He would have to wait for the right opportunities.

Also on Toby's mind was Clarissa, whom he missed terribly. He knew she would be all right with his mother and stepfather; there were few women as capable and self-reliant as Clarissa. But he missed her and wished she were with him.

Crossing the Red River, which delineated the border of Minnesota and the Dakota Territory, Toby headed for Fort Abercrombie, the small army post maintained jointly by the Corps of Engineers and the infantry, for peace-keeping purposes. The commandant of Fort Abercrombie had been notified by a War Department telegraph of Toby's arrival, and four engineer officers, who had worked on laying out the railroad lines across the territory, were on hand to greet him. Together, they would go out to inspect the lines they had charted, and the engineers had been told to make any alterations recommended by Toby Holt.

Toby ate dinner with the soldiers that evening at the

oflBcers* mess, and for the first time since he had left the frontier, he dined on buffalo steak. One taste was enough to tell him that he had returned to the West.

Colonel C.C. Black, who had a thick, dark mustache and carried himself with an air of self-importance, was the senior oflBcer of the group. He explained the situation to Toby. **Dakota is so confounded big," he said, "that we ve surveyed for two lines, running east and west, rather than one. The northern route extends from Duluth pretty much due west, south of the Canadian border, and will hit in northern Montana. The other line extends west from St. Paul, Minnesota, and will enter the central part of Montana. This line will follow the route you and your partner already mapped out through the Washington Territory. The other line will run north of it, following a route the Army Corps of Engineers surveyed, and will merge with yom* line in the western part of the Washington territory."

**That makes sense," Toby said. **To have two lines located far apart means there will always be one of them running in the event of an emergency."

Tou're thinking, Mr. Holt, of possible Indian troubles," one of the junior officers said.

Toby nodded grimly. **I am," he replied. **I don't know much about the latest developments with the Indians in the territory, but you're probably aware there's something afoot."

"So I am," Colonel Black told him. "But, Tm sorry to say, we're lacking details. We have only a smaU cavalry detachment here at the fort, and our infantry is in no position to range very far from the home base. All I can tell you is that something is indeed brewing."

*1 aim to learn the details," Toby said, but did not reveal his assignment from General Grant to learn the ex-

tent and nature of the alliance among the Sioux, Blackfoot, and Cheyenne, and to try to prevent them from going to war.

The following morning, accompanied by Colonel Black and three junior oflBcers, Toby set out to inspect the less northern line, which extended into the wilderness from the farmlands of Dakota. The weather was cold, but there was no snow on the ground, and they covered a considerable area in the next two days, riding past numerous homesteads, each consisting of one hundred and sixty acres, which the U.S. government gave free to settlers who came to Dakota. Though the fields had long since been cleared of crops, com was the staple product grown everywhere in this part of the territory.

The diflFerences between life in the Dakota Territory and that in Minnesota, which lay due east of it, were significant. In Minnesota the Indians were few, and there were not many dangers, but here in Dakota, farmers and their sons always had their rifles beside them, and even the women made certain firearms were close at hand. This was the ''peaceful" portion of the vast territory, the part that supposedly had been tamed, but the unwary nevertheless sometimes lost their lives and scalps.

Most farms were near the Missouri River, which bisected the entire territory from north to south, and along the banks of its tributaries. The land as far as one could see in every direction was undeviatingly flat. One of the most notable qualities of this portion of Dakota was the complete absence of any trees. Most of America in its primitive stages was covered with a thick forest, a sea of trees that extended from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, but Dakota was different. Here there was unre-

lieved flat prairie, with rich, black soil and thick, waving grass that reached as high as a mans waist.

One of the consequences of this phenomenon was that log cabins, which were common elsewhere in the United States, were unknown in Dakota. Most pioneers built their homes of clay and of sod, though in the first months after they settled here, they copied the Indians and made their dwellings of animal skins.

Game flourished, attracted by the high, rich grass. As soon as Toby and his mihtary associates started out on their joiuney, they saw large herds of buffalo, some grazing nearby, others visible in the distance. The farther they rode from civilization, the more herds they saw. As they rode farther and farther west, Toby saw deer and elk, antelope and moose, whicK attracted by the nourishing dry grass, had wandered down from the Black Hills.

As the party traveled, Toby carefully inspected the site for the less northern of the proposed railroad lines. By the time they had reached the western boundary of the territory on the Montana border, he expressed his approval.

Thus, a little more than a week after leaving Fort Abercrombie, they had done what they had set out to do and were now heading back east. Then one day, shortly before noon, Toby became alert to danger. The sun was standing almost directly overhead in a cloudless sky as the group, with Colonel Black in the lead and Toby behind him, traveled back across the prairie, pausing from time to time to study maps drawn by the engineers. Suddenly Toby halted his horse. His eyes focused toward the left, and some intuitive sense told him that it was not an animal that had aroused his attention.

Peering into the distance, Toby at last saw what he

was looking for. Riding toward the small party was a group of at least twenty Indian warriors, all of them with feathers in their scalp locks, giving evidence of their bellicose intentions. Their faces and the upper portions of their bodies were smeared with the vermilion and white war paint of the Sioux.

Calling the attention of his companions to the approaching braves, Toby scrutinized the column swiftly. War parties seldom went out this time of year, but there was no doubting the hostile intentions of this group of Sioux, all of whom were armed with lances, bows, and arrows.

Reacting swiftly, Toby took charge, even though Colonel Black was the highest-ranking officer present. **They're Sioux," he said, "and they have war fever.**

Colonel Black deferred to Toby. *'What do you suggest?**

**If they follow the usual procedure of Sioux,** Toby repHed, watching the advancing braves, "they'll try to take us first with a headlong rush. If that doesn't work, they'll try forming a circle around us so we can't break out, and they'll take potshots at us. But we'll face that situation when we come to it. The best thing, Colonel, is for the four of you to form behind me in a point-shaped wedge."

"With you at the point?*

•^es, sir.**

*1 don*t know about that,** Colonel Black said dubiously. ^Tfou'll be the target for every one of those warriors.**

"That won't matter,** Toby replied, speaking rapidly. **You and I and the other three have rifles, while they only have arrows and lances. It*s going to take them time to get in range, and by then, I hope we'll have dis-

66 DAKOTAI

posed of enough of them with our guns to scare them off/'

The Sioux's horses were so close that the men could hear the thunder of their hoofs. The colonel gave a quiet order, and he and his men ranged behiod Toby in a V-formation.

Again measuring the distance of the rapidly approaching braves, Toby checked his rifle, as well as the two six-shooters that he carried in his belt. Certain that his weapons were properly loaded, he laid the rifle in front of him across his saddle, and tugging his hat lower on his forehead, he squinted at the approaching Sioux, making no move until they came within rifle range.

The Sioux had expected the palesldns to break and run, to gallop away in an attempt to escape their charge. "When they failed to be dislodged, the warriors admired them but nevertheless thought their behavior foolhardy.

The Indians rode in no formation. Each man pushed his horse as best he could, with the riders in the lead bunched together and a half-dozen or more men clustered behind them.

Toby caught a glimpse of a war bonnet with many feathers at the rear of the Sioux ranks, indicating the chieftain who was in charge of the assault. Ordinarily this individual would have been a prime target, but he was protected by most of his braves, so Toby ignored the chief for the present and instead concentrated on the warriors leading the charge.

Raising his rifle to his shoulder, he took swift aim, then squeezed the trigger. A brave threw his hands skyward and shd to the ground. He died before his body struck the ground and was trampled by the hoofs of the horses in the second wave.

The oflBcers behind Toby were cool, experienced In-

dian fighters, and four shots resulted in four more warriors tumbling to the ground. By that time Toby had reloaded his rifle and fired it a second time, disposing of still another foe.

By now the braves, their ranks reduced, thought better of their attack. They had suffered heavy casualties after sending only a few stray arrows ineffectively in the general direction of their enemy, and they knew they were being badly trounced. Once again, the superior weapons of the white man had proved too much for them, and the Sioux turned to flee.

As they turned, Toby recognized the chief in the war bonnet as Gray Wolf, one of the leaders of the Sioux in the battle with the Eleventh Cavalry in Montana. Almost without thinking, he seized the opportunity to begin carrying out the private mission given him by General Grant. He spurred his horse in pursuit of the war party, and after an instant's startled hesitation, the four officers followed him.

When Toby was within hailing distance, he drew both pistols. '*Gray Wolfl" he called in the language of the Sioux. "Stop or you are a dead man! Take the word of Toby Holt, son of Whip Holt, for this."

The chief pulled his mount to a halt and stared in astonishment. The braves, confused, reined in behind him.

"If you had killed my comrades and me, you would have taken our scalps,** Toby said, his pistols still aimed at the chief. "It is our right to remove your scalp and those of the braves whom you have led into battle. But I am willing to spare you on one condition.**

"What is your condition?** Gray Wolf shouted hoarsely, as both he and his braves stared in wcwider at the intrepid palesldn.

**Where is Thunder Cloud, the chief of all the Sioux?"

Toby demanded. *T wish to bring him a message from those chiefs who lead the United States. But I do not know where to find him in Dakota. It is said that he and his people have moved their village to a secret location. Take me to him and your life will be spared with honor.**

Colonel Black, who knew the language of the Sioux well enough to make out what was being said, blinked at Toby in astonishment

Toby, in an undertone, said, It's true that I carry words for him from General Grant. If I can, I must persuade the Sioux to give up their plan to engage in a full-scale war against the United States. And if I can speak with Thimder Cloud, it wiU be unnecessary to speak to anyone else."

**You re taking a terrible risk. Holt," the colonel whispered.

*1 think not," Toby replied. **They know me, just as they knew my father. Most of them know the many favors we have done for them over the years, and their sense of honor is so great that they would not dare to destroy their good names by killing me."

Colonel Black saw the sense in what Toby was saying.

**I accept the conditions of Holt," Gray Wolf called, and gave an order to his braves. Several of them promptly dismounted. Now that they were no longer fleeing, they took advantage of the opportunity to collect their dead, as was their custom.

Toby made brief farewells to Colonel Black and his men, tiien moved forward to take his place beside Gray Wolf. The Sioux braves fell in behind them.

As Toby rode oflF with the warriors, he imwittingly created another Toby Holt legend. The army oflBcers would never tire of relating how he had killed two Sioux

in combat, had made demands of their leader at gunpoint, and then had ridden off with his attackers.

After riding for about an hour, Toby and the braves came to a fast-flowing river, a tributary of the mighty Missomi. They paused beside the bank to water their horses and to eat shredded, dried buffalo meat, which the Indians shared with their unwelcome guest.

The journey was resumed, and shortly before sunset they encountered several Sioux sentries. Soon they came upon a bustling village laid out on the prairie near a bend in the river. Warriors sat placidly around the many cooking fires. Carcasses of deer and smaller game—the result of their day s hunting—hung from frames made of poles. Squaws tended the fires, boiling water and cooking food for the evening meal, and small children were shooed away and told to go play until supper was ready. As nearly as Toby could judge, the village had two to three thousand inhabitants, which meant that this was a principal Sioux settlement and that it was imdoubtedly Thunder Cloud's own headquarters.

His guess was soon confirmed. Gray Wolf rode off, leaving a few of his braves to stay with Toby, while the others brought the horses of their dead comrades to the corral. The bodies of the slain Indians would later be given funeral rites.

Now Gray Wolf returned and led Toby and his horse to the center of the community. Old men sitting on the ground, half-drowsing in the warmth of the fires, stared at the stranger, their faces expressionless. Their juniors, however, were less polite. Warriors glared at Toby, as did many squaws, and several small boys shook their fists and hurled insults at him, only to be silenced by their mothers.

Gray Wolf left Toby with several braves and entered

a tepee near tibe river's edge that was no larger and no more impressive than any other. A few moments later the entrance flap was thrown aside, and Thunder Cloud emerged, his fuJl-feathered bonnet settled squarely on his head, his vermilion and white war paint streaking his face and torso.

Toby had seen the barrel-chested and brawny chief in the distance when they had engaged in battle in the Montana mountains. But this was the first time they had met face to face, and for a moment Toby was concerned that the hostile-looking Thunder Cloud was not going to acknowledge his peaceful intentions. Then the chief extended his right arm, the palm of his hand held upward, in formal greeting, and Toby did the same, relieved that the tense moment had passed.

Toby's horse was taken from him, to be looked after by some of the braves. He was allowed to keep his weapons with him, but he was always surrounded by three vigilant warriors, who watched every move he made. They followed him into the chiefs dwelling, and they were right beside him as he and Thunder Cloud sat cross-legged on the ground, facing each other.

They were served a supper of broiled fish, stewed com, and roasted elk heart, considered one of the greatest of delicacies by the Sioux. After the meal was finished and an appropriate period of silence was observed. Thunder Cloud nodded politely, indicating his guest could speak.

Toby began to talk. **The friendship of my family and the Indian nations goes back for many years," he said. *It began when my father notified the Sioux that they were going to be trapped by their false allies, the Crow, and the warriors of the Sioux not only escaped but defeated the Crow in batde."

"That is so," Thunder Cloud acknowledged. *1 was young then, but I remember the occasion well."

**I have followed in the footsteps of my father,* Toby went on. **It was not so long ago that I became brothers with the Nez Perc6 in the mountains of Washington, and I helped bring peace between them and the United States."

The Sioux leader nodded slowly. "It cannot be denied," he said, ''that Toby Holt has been the friend of the Indians on many occasions."

**Now the time has come," Toby said, **for the Sioux to show they are friends to the family of Holt."

Thunder Cloud's expression did not change, but he sat more erect, as if bracing himself.

*1 know," Toby said, "that the great Sioux nation has formed an alliance with the people of the Blackfoot and the people of the Cheyenne. The piupose is to drive white men from the Plains. Is this true?"

"It is true," the Sioux chieftain assured him solemnly.

"The reason for this alliance is not difiBcult to guess," Toby said. "The Sioux and their allies are angry because settlers from the United States are establishing their homes and farms and ranches in the hunting grounds of the Indian nations."

Thunder Cloud grunted assent as he folded his arms across his chest.

"The United States," Toby said, "has become a large and powerful nation. It has men by the hundreds of thousands. In factories men make rifles and pistols and cannon that shoot with great accuracy. If the Indian nations oppose the will of the United States, the United States wiU call her men to arms and will punish her foes."

Thunder Cloud remained impassive. "It is true that

many Indian warriors will die,** he said, **but many white warriors will die, also."

**It is true that the battles would be fierce,** Toby said. "Mothers and widows and orphans would weep for dead warriors on both sides. The tragedy is that they would have died in vain. The United States does not regard the Indian nations as her enemies. Her people seek only the friendship of the Indian tribes. My government has set aside vast tracts of land for the Indian tribes. No white men will be allowed to settle on those lands or to set foot on them without the express permission of the Indian nations. President Andrew Johnson, our present chief of chiefs, is committed to this policy, and so is General Ulysses S. Grant, his principal warrior. I have been authorized by them to make a solemn promise to the Sioux, to the Blackfoot, and to the Cheyenne. You do not want your young men to die in war; we do not want our young men to die in war. Sign treaties of peace with us, and I will guarantee you in my own name, and in the name of my father, that the United States wiU grant not one but many large reservations to each of your nations.*'

Thunder Cloud was unimpressed. "What will the people of the Indian nations do Mdth this land?** he demanded. **Our Hves depend on the meat that our hunters kill.**

**The land you will be given will be your own,** Toby said. ^There your warriors v^dll be free to hunt as they please and when they please.**

A sour smile appeared briefly on the face of the Sioux chieftain. *Tn my lifetime," he said, "I have watched the Sioux move from the lands that are now known to you as Iowa and Kansas and Nebraska until they have finally settled here in what you call Dakota. Many white men

came to Iowa and Kansas and Nebraska, and they built their houses. When I was a boy, herds of buffalo roamed through the high grasses of those prairie lands. Now the farmers grow com and wheat there, and the buffalo have disappeared. The deer that hved in those lands have vanished, and so have the antelope. No Indian nation remains there because no Indian nation could survive. We are determined that the same tragedy will not strike us here, for we have no other place to go.**

"My government," Toby said, **has made many errors, just as the Indian nations have made many errors. Because we were strangers to each other, we first suspected, and then hated, each other. But there is no reason for such hatred. We can Kve together, side by side, in trust and in friendship. We hold out the hand of friendship to you, and with it, we extend the promise that you wiU have much land that will belong to you and your children and grandchildren after you. As honorable men, we cannot do more than this."

**Toby Holt," Thunder Cloud said slowly, 'Tike his father. Whip Holt, has been the good friend of the Sioux and of the Blackfoot and of the Cheyenne, just as he has been an enemy to be feared in battle. I do not question the word of Toby Holt. But I do not know your chief of chiefs, Johnson, or his warrior. Grant. It may be that they lie to Toby Holt and they hope that he will convince the Indian nations that he tells the truth. Then, after the Indians have broken apart their alHance and have made peace treaties, they will discover that the greed of the paleskins consumes them and they seek every foot of land for themselves. This trick has been played on the Indian nations many times since the first settlers came."

Toby did his best to counter the chiefs argument.

"Let Thunder Cloud make a journey to Washington City and take with him the principal chieiFtains of the Black-foot and of the Cheyenne. Meet President Johnson and General Grant. Hear what they say, and judge them for yourselves.''

Thunder Cloud shook his head. "If the leaders of the Indian nations travel alone/' he said, "far from their homes, and are not surrounded by their warriors, who can protect them? What is to stop the leaders of the United States from chaining their wrists and ankles and confining them in a prison?"

"I can assure you," Toby said, "that the President of the United States and the chief of staff of our army are honorable men."

"It may be you are right," Thimder Cloud said, "but it also may be that you are mistaken. I wish to take no chances, so I wiU stay here and will not go to these leaders. The gods who guide the destinies of the Indian nations show the greatest favors to those who are bold and strong. So I shall continue to m-ge the people of the Sioux to show those quahties in their dealings with the white settlers."

His message was plain: He had no intention of trying to reach an accommodation with the United States, and Toby knew that his mission was on the verge of failure. "Don't make up your mind in this matter too quickly. I beg you," he said. "When the great thundersticks of my people start to roar, they drown out the voices of reason, the voices of mere men, even of leaders."

Thimder Cloud's nod was noncommittal as he rose to his feet, indicating that the talk had come to an end.

The three junior warriors took Toby to a tepee of his own to spend the night. That he had been allowed to keep his weapons consoled him somewhat, though as he

lay in his blankets trying to fall asleep, he felt something was very much amiss. He went over his conversation with Thunder Cloud again. Something odd had happened in the course of that talk, something that struck him as strange, and he tried to recall it.

All at once Toby knew what was wrong. After the evening meal had been finished, it would have been customary for Thunder Cloud to light a pipe and offer it to his guest, expecting him to take alternate puffs. The fact that he had not observed this custom was significant, and Toby's jaw tightened as he guessed its meaning.

He rose swiftly to his feet and moved stealthily to the entrance of his tepee. Suddenly he stopped short. Only a few feet in front of the tepee were not three but ten burly warriors, all armed with long knives and stout clubs.

Toby knew instantly that Thunder Cloud had made him a prisoner and was ignoring the fact that Toby had come to him as an emissary of the United States.

Withdrawing inside his tent, Toby sat on his blankets, his legs folded beneath him and his arms crossed as he contemplated his situation. As a prisoner of the Sioux, he would be unable to talk to other Indian leaders of Dakota and explain why they should make peace with the United States. Thunder Cloud knew just what he was doing when he made Toby Holt his captive.

Still, the Sioux would have to handle his captivity with great discretion and, if possible, conceal it. He was a Holt, and he had defeated them fairly in a battle and had requested an interview with their chieftain. If the facts of his captivity became known, Thunder Cloud would lose face, not only with other tribes but also with many of his own people. He would be accused of betraying a trust, of acting dishonorably.

On the other hand, Toby had to exercise great care, too. He still had his rifle and pistols, so he could try to blast his way out of the village of the Sioux. But even if he escaped, warriors would be killed and wounded, and he could be accused of having abused the hospltaHty of the Indians. This was a grave offense and would be all that Thunder Cloud needed to blacken Toby Holts name among the Indians in Dakota and, indeed, throughout the West. Also, at the very least, the sounds of firearms would waken the entire village. Therefore, Toby had to think of some more subtle method of making his way past the sentries. The task would not be easy.

One thing was plain, however: He had discovered that he'd been made a prisoner far earlier than the Sioux chieftain or his braves had intended him to learn of it. Thus, they would be guarding him far more loosely now than later, no doubt assuming he would be sleeping and would not yet have learned the truth.

Consequently, he had an opportunity to escape. Toby estimated the time as shortly after midnight. If the Sioux followed their usual custom, they would not change sentries until shortly before daybreak, so it would be wise to wait for a time. The longer the present guards were on duty, the more tired, bored, and lethargic they would become. His most difficult task would be to escape without using his firearms.

Toby decided the best thing he could do for the moment was to exercise patience. He emptied his mind; then, still sitting, he rested, even though he remained awake. His body gathered strength for the ordeal ahead.

Finally, when he estimated that dawn would break shortly, he knew the time had come to act. Walking out of his tent, he saw the ten guards sitting in front of the

hut. Some were dozing, but others immediately rose to their feet and looked at Toby challengingly, their knives and clubs at their sides.

Toby calmly smiled. The guards looked perplexed but remained vigilant. Then Toby began to whistle softly.

The guards had no idea what this peculiar white man was doing, but he seemed harmless, and they made no move toward him.

Toby had noticed earlier that the Indians' horses, his ovm stallion among them, were corralled not far from where he was being kept prisoner. His whistle was a signal to his horse to come to him, and just as he intended, his stallion responded. The horse whinnied, paced back and forth a few times in the enclosure, then jumped over the rail and trotted over to his master.

Toby breathed a sigh of relief when the horse appeared. So far his luck was phenomenally good.

Grasping his rifle in one hand, Toby vaulted onto the back of his horse. There was no saddle, the Indians having removed it, but he could easily ride bareback. He kicked his heels into the side of his horse and galloped off, leaving the guards staring in bewilderment. They had no idea what to do about this totally unexpected turn of events, so they did not give chase. Instead, two braves ran off to find out from their chief what they should do.

This gave Toby all the time he needed to leave the Sioux village. He was aware, however, that he would encounter the Sioux sentries stationed outside the town, and he knew they might not let him get away so easily.

Indeed, he had not ridden more than a hundred yards when two armed braves stood in his way. They, too, did not know what to make of his unexpected appearance,

but before they could do anything, Toby rode furiously at them, causing them to leap aside.

Now, beyond him stretched the limitless prairie, the high grass extending for miles ahead. It was still dark, and Toby could make out vague shapes only a few yards ahead.

He knew the village was protected by other sentries who concealed themselves in the tall grass. But he had no idea where they might be hiding. At best—or at worst—his horse would come upon them in the dark, and he might be forced to use his firearms after all.

But all he could do now was gallop forward.

Dawn came as light streaked the sky. Suddenly a Sioux sentinel, who had been completely hidden in the tall grass, leaped to his feet, a murderous tomahawk in one hand.

Toby reacted with instinctive speed. He grasped his rifle by the barrel and swung the stock with great force against the side of the sentry's head. The Indian dropped to the ground and lay still, and Toby hoped the brave was only unconscious, not dead.

Galloping on, he hoped there was not yet another ring of sentinels hidden in the grass farther from the village. His guards had undoubtedly notified Thunder Cloud by now, and it was likely a band of Sioirx warriors would piu*sue him. He had sufficient respect for the speed of their horses to want enough of a head start to reach the wilderness and safety.

His stallion rushed forward, and Toby's luck was good, for he encountered no more sentries. Looking back over his shoulder, as the land became flooded with daylight, he saw that he was not being followed and had made good his escape. But his problems were far from ended; on the contrary, they were just beginning. He

had been charged by General Grant with the responsibility of achieving a peaceful solution to the troubles that brewed between the United States and the Indian nations of the area. It was true that the principal chieftain of the Sioux, the largest and most powerful of these nations, had rejected the hand that Toby had offered him. But the young Westerner realized he had no choice. He had to keep trytug to prevent an all-out war in the area, no matter how great the odds against him might be.

Tall, slim Andrew Brentwood, his boyish good looks something of a surprise in a colonel commanding an important miHtary fort, checked the tunic of his blue uniform to make certain that his insignia were in place. Satisfied, he donned the jacket, buttoning it slowly as he stood at the bedchamber vdndow in the commandant's house at Fort Shaw, and looked out at the majestic moimtains that rose in the distance. He felt relaxed, at peace with the world.

The door opened, and his pert, aubum-haired wife, Susanna, entered. She had just finished attending to their nine-month-old baby, Sam, and had handed him over to Mrs. Ford, the wet nurse, for a morning feeding. Seeing Andy at the window, lost in thought, she crept up and put her arms around his waist. "Are you going to stand there all morning admiring the view, Colonel, or is it possible that I might interest you in some breakfast?^

"Breakfast itH be," he told her, "since Tm assured of the pleasure of your company." He turned and kissed her, and then they stood together, both looking out the window. He sighed happily. "You know, Sue, I've really faUen in love with Montana now that peace has come to the territory."

I

"Now that you and the Eleventh Cavahy have made mighty good and sure that there's peace in Montana,** she corrected. "If it weren't for you, the Sioux would still be raiding ranches, and the settlers wotdd be prey to bands like that horrid Hastings gang.**

"Peace is always relative in the West," Andy told her, buclding on his sword belt and taking his campaign hat from a peg as he followed his wife down to the breakfast table. "We haven't yet heard the last of the Sioux,* he said. "I can't help wishing that we'd achieved an even more smashing victory than we did. I know Thunder Cloud, and as long as he can move and manipulate, he's not going to be satisfied to sit back and lick his wounds. He's sure to make another stab at us." He sat down at the table, and his wife served him a cup of coffee.

"You want the usual, I assume?" she asked.

He nodded vaguely, preoccupied.

Susanna went off to the kitchen to tell the cook that the colonel wanted fried eggs, bacon, and toast, as always, and when she returned, she took her seat opposite him.

"Strictly between us," Andy said, "Toby Holt has been given an urgent mission by the War Department. The Sioux have formed an alliance with other Indian nations. They want to make war against the United States, and Toby's been charged to persuade them not to fight.**

"That's a tall order," Susanna said, shaking her head. "Do you think he can bring it off?"

He considered the question carefully. "I honestly don't know," he replied. "I'll say this, though. If anyone can bring off an impossible assignment hke that, Toby can. I should be hearing from him fairly shortly because he wired me when he arrived in Dakota two weeks ago. I

assume by now he's made at least preliminary contact with the Sioux/'

Susanna, a veteran newspaperwoman before her marriage, discussed the book on which she was working, a series of interviews with pioneer settlers in the Western territories. She nibbled on a piece of toast and sipped a cup of steaming coflFee as she outlined her latest chapter, while her husband, eating his bacon and eggs, Hstened with great interest.

They were stiU at the table when a knock sounded at the front door. Andy's orderly answered the summons and appeared at the dining room threshold moments later. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am," he said. "Sir, that was the night duty sergeant at the door just now. The oflBcer of the day received a message for you, and he thought it should be delivered to you right away."

'Thanks ery much, Corporal," Andy said as he accepted a sheet of folded paper.

He scanned the document hastily, then read it more carefuUy a second time.

"Bad news?" Susanna asked. "You look grim.**

"Speaking of Toby," he said, "this is a telegram he sent from Fort Rice in the Dakota Territory last night." He looked at the message again and scowled. "All he says is that he's had a meeting with Thunder Cloud, and he wants to confer with me as soon as possible. He's already left Fort Rice for a rendezvous point that we had prearranged in the Black Hills of Dakota not far from the Badlands. That means Til have to get cracking."

"You don't know the results of his meeting with Thunder Cloudr

Andy shook his head. "Toby doesn't say, so I assume he wasn't too encouraged. Ordinarily we don't put bad news into a telegram because it passes through so many

hands. I have a hunch that I may have spoken a trifle too soon this morning when I seiid how much I love the West when it's peaceful/'

**Oh, dear." Susanna bit her lower lip.

Her husband rose from the table, went to her, and patted her on the shoulder. "Don t fret, honey," he said. **Let's not borrow trouble until we have to. The army isn't maintaining my regiment in these parts in order to give the men a hoUday. So I think it's fair to say that we may have some work to do."

Susanna realized that no matter how long she was married, she would never grow accustomed to the fact that her husband was in a dangerous profession.

*Td appreciate it. Sue, if you'd pack a duflFel for me with about ten days' worth of clothes and food,.and I'll need a bedroll. I've got some papers to clean off my desk, and as soon as that's done, Fll want to get started."

She knew she was expected to maintain a calm fagade, but she couldn't conceal her alarm. **Surely you're not going off into Dakota alone to meet Tobyl"

He smiled reassuringly. **I may be a fool, but I'm not a complete fool. Don't worry, honey, I'll take a half-troop of cavalry with me as an escort."

Relieved, she raised her face to his for his kiss. I'll include a packet of chocolate cookies for Toby. He's probably hved on army rations and dried meat for far too long, and since Clarissa isn't here to look after him, I elect myself to do the job."

"He'll be very grateful, honey, I'm sure," Andy replied. He refrained from saying that if Toby's news was as bad as he suspected it was, his good friend would be in no mood to enjoy a package of sweets. If Andy's estimate was correct, the entire future of the United States

in the West, from the Great Plains to the Rocky Mountains, was at stake.

Ralph Hastings sat on the ground near the campfire in the Black Hills of Dakota, at the edge of the Badlands, his back propped against a stunted tree. His supper of buflFalo stew sat untasted in a bowl on the ground beside him. Reeking of cheap gin, he muttered to himself unin-telHgibly; occasionally the words "Gentle Doe" could be beard.

Ma Hastings and the members of her gang thought Ralph was hallucinating, as he sometimes did when he drank too much liquor, so they paid no attention to him and concentrated instead on their food.

Ma had good reason to feel satisfied with herself and her gang. They had just returned to their hideout after raiding an isolated homestead the day before, and they had made an especially good haul, acquiring a large sum of cash, horses they could sell, and several weapons.

Ma Hastings ate heartily, as she always did when she was in a good mood, and not even the sodden condition of her son could dampen her feehngs. The assault had been a stroke of good fortune, and her gang had earned enough to be satisfied for a time, at least until they had spent their shares on hquor and women. Ma intended to use the respite to good advantage by strengthening and solidifying her relations with the Indian nations, particularly the Sioux, with whom she had an informal alliance.

Tall Stone was cut from a bolt of cloth she understood and admired, and she was certain that they would do a great deal of business together in the months and years to come.

She had been fortunate, she told herself, that, thanks to the swift and decisive intervention of Toby Holt, she

had been forced to leave the Montana Territory. That gave her a bond in common with the Sioux and had strengthened her relationship with them. In the long run, she reflected, she and her gang would make far more money for themselves being here in Dakota, where they could share in the booty resulting from the Sioux's war against the whites and where sooner or later she would have vqngeance.

She had vowed when her son CliflFord died not only to get his killer, Toby Holt, but also to see to it that her remaining son, Ralph, took the place of his brother. This last proved impossible. Ralph was much too far gone with drink, and in recent days, ever since they had visited the Sioux village, he seemed to be in a constant daze, muttering about a young woman he seemed to think was his wife. But he was the last of her kin left in the world, and even while acknowledging his weakness, she doted on him.

Gnawing contentedly on a buffalo chop, Ma Hastings heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats, and knowing she was expecting no visitor tonight, she reached for her rifle. Most members of the gang immediately followed her example but continued to eat. Though notorious when on a raid, the gang was rather undisciplined and lax when it came to defending their camp.

A ferocious-looking Sioux warrior, his head shaved on both sides of his scalp lock, his vermilion and white war paint visible in the light of the campfire, rode into the encampment. He was heavily muscled and carried himself with great dignity, which, by contrast, made the gang members appear all the more bedraggled and unkempt as they stood and pointed their rifles at him.

"Put down your firearms, you idiots," Ma commanded sharply. "Don t you know a friend when you see one?''

I

Turning to the new arrival, she smiled broadly and spoke in very good Sioux, a talent that never failed to impress her band members. "Welcome," she said, and lowered her head.

The warrior grinned at her, and before he dismounted, Black Horse raised his hand in salute. He had been somewhat reluctant to enter the pay of a woman, a paleskin at that, but he was pleased now that he had followed the advice given him by Tall Stone. Ma Hastings made him gifts of firearms and liquor, both forbidden to Indians under the terms of their early treaties vsdth the United States, and she paid him promptly in hard cash for any information he brought to her.

On this occasion he felt certain she would pay him handsomely. But Black Horse was in no hurry to tell her what he knew. He had spent long hours crossing endless miles of the Dakota Territory, and having started at dawn, he was tired. So he accepted the steaming bowl of stew the woman offered him, and he looked long and hard at the half-consumed bottle of gin that rested on the ground beside Ralph Hastings. But he decided not to ask for any of the hquor.

Ma Hastings had lived for many years on the frontier, and she knew that the exercise of patience was the first rule in dealings v^dth Indians. Certainly she was in no rush. She made no attempt to converse with Black Horse while he ate, but twice she ordered one of her men to refill his bowl.

He, too, observed certain rules. Not once did he glance in the woman's direction or indicate in any way that he had traveled a long distance to see her. Only after he belched loudly, indicating that he had finished his meal, did he raise his head and look at her.

Their eyes met briefly, and in that instant Ma knew

that the Sioux warrior had news of significance. She rose slowly to her feet and brushed ofiF her dark, rumpled trousers. Then, acting as though she did not have a care in the world, she wandered oflF in the direction of one of the large, grotesque stones that dotted the Badlands.

A few moments later Black Horse joined her.

She leaned indolently against a strangely shaped stone, and the brave followed her example. Ma waited for him to break the silence.

Black Horse elected to speak in his own tongue, rather than to struggle with English. **Many moons ago," he said, "when Black Horse brought to the squaw-who-walks-like-a-man news that pleased her, she gave him a bag filled with silver. Does she remember that dayr^

In dealing with Indians, there were conversational procedures that had to be observed, and Ma Hastings advised herself to show patience. *1 remember weU,** she said.

"On that same day," he went on, "she told him that, if he ever gleaned any news about Toby Holt, the friend of Indian nations and son of Whip Holt, she woxild give him another bag, this one filled with gold.'*

She stiffened at the name of the man she hated most in all the world. "Do you have news of Toby Holt?" she demanded instantly.

Black Horse would not be diverted. "Do you remember the gold you promised me?"

She snatched off her hat, then took a heavy pmrse from her belt and emptied the contents into it. The purse contained her share of the loot from the previous day's robbery, and a shower of gold coins gleamed in the moonlight. "Of course I remember," she said curtly. "But I do not pay for merchandise I have not seen. If

you truly bring me important news of my enemy, all the gold that now rests in this hat will be yours."

The brave's eyes gleamed avariciously as he moistened his dry lips. "Six suns ago," he said, "the son of Whip Holt and a party of soldiers^ from Fort Abercrombie were attacked by a band of Sioux, many of whom were killed. Gray Wolf, who led the raiders, has apologized to the Sioux nation for his mistake and has said that if he had known that Toby Holt was in the party, he would not have attacked."

"No foolin'," Ma replied tartly.

**Yesterday," Black Horse continued, **a visitor to my camp from the principal village of the Sioux brought strange news. Toby Holt went to the village and tried to persuade Thunder Cloud to give up his plan to make war against the white men. Thunder Cloud refused."

Ma chuckled as she poured half of the coins in her hat into the outstretched hands of the brave. "Good for Thunder Cloud. Then what happened?"

The warrior, at the climax of his story, became self-important. "Toby Holt," he said, "rode quickly to Fort Rice. When I learned that news, I set out at once in search for the woman-who-walks-Uke-a-man. The gods of the Sioux smiled at me because this very day I saw a scout of the Sioux, who told me that Toby Holt was seen following the trail that leads into the Black Hills."