been shootin' and fire, and them buff'lo war wild. And he's heard another medicine wolf-else same one. We'd best put tracks between hyar and yon, soonest possible." "So say I," agreed Thompson. "Who's on guard,

Kit?"

"Harris ain't done eatin'. He'll rouse Kelly, and thar's Kelly's mule. Mule'll smell Injun like a beaver smells bait. Howsomever, 'tain't natteral we'd be bothered 'fore mornin'. That ain't Injun way."

"Here's your robe, and thanks," spoke Old Glory. Carson answered shortly:

"I told you it war on the perairie for you. That's said."

66

I'll soon have one of my own, thank you.”

66 And a pore one. A winter cow robe don't grade with a bull's. But you'll need it for yore woman and the baby."

66

Aye," the giant uttered composedly. "It will be a good robe when she's finished with it."

66

"She's welcome to it or to the one I give you," said Carson. She desarves well-she desarves better than havin' that Blackfoot pup saddled on her, for I never see ary good come yet out o' fosterin' Blackfoot blood."

"What would you have had me do? Leave it to freeze?"

"You could have left it thar on the perairie for its own to find," replied Carson. "To kill it o' course wouldn't ha' been white way. Now if you'll take advice that means you well you'll swap it to the Crows fust chance you get."

"To be killed?"

"Nope, not in cold blood. They'd hold it ag'in time when they need to make the Blackfeet 'come,' mighty bad, Bridger says; and he's up to trap with Crows, if

anybody is. So good-night to you. Guns handy, is the word."

Carson went to bed. Blunt and honest, he left no offense behind him. His heart was open and his tongue

straight.

Old Glory and Thompson stretched out under Thompson's robe. The Nez Percé girl stole in, to view the babe. She tucked the blanket more snugly about it, and hovered over with little murmur in the Nez Percé tongue.

You had better sleep. There is a robe," said the Britisher.

"Little more. Pretty soon," she replied, and stole out. "I'm glad somebody's up," mumbled Thompson. "My hair feels loose."

Indeed, to the giant likewise a sense of peril incongruous to a camp full-fed and isolated seemed breathed by the night that pressed in from a thousand miles of space. The stars had taken station as if they saw, and knew, and waited. The willows and aspens rustled and creaked, as if distressed in a dumb premonition. In the darkness the wolves still quarreled over bones that must have been picked clean long ere this. And what forms of dread might be lurking yonder, known only to the unknown-well, time would tell whether they were bogies or flesh and blood. But the remark of Thompson somehow jarred unpleasantly and all too remindfully as if he had spoken one's own secret thoughts so alien to Christmas Eve.

Kelly's old mule stood as before, her ears flopped laxly, her expression benign. Black Harris, a robe over his hunched shoulders, maundered at his fire and spasmodically champed. Would he never have done? The Nez Percé worked again at the robe, but Mariano's squaw had joined her master. The hour appeared to be late.

The giant drowsed off. Sleep weighted him heavily; then dreams bore him far upon magic carpet. He awakened dazed, and permeated with cold dread. But the chill was from inward; it was not of the night. The night, he conceived, had well sped. The camp was still plunged in slumbers. The fires had died low, although the coals shone redly. Black Harris was lopped sideways, huddled to the flickers, a piece of meat fast in his jaws. The old mule stood; she had advanced in pursuit of the receding warmth, and her solemn head was almost over the coals.

He failed to see Kelly. Possibly the Star of Bethlehem had risen, for peace on earth, good-will to men; but hereabouts there were only the Great Bear, swinging low, the other stars, very watchful, and the peace, the false peace of a camp of snoring, gurgling men.

Scarcely seen, just beyond the fire glow, dusky forms moved, low to the white ground. Wolves, of course; aye, wolves foraging for the banquet scraps. It was a common sight. The hungry rascals even filched one's moccasins from under one's head.

The old mule raised her head and elevated her ears. He heard a little sound near him; then he witnessed the Nez Percé girl step out, with the baby, to the nearest live fire; she crouched, nursing the child in the warmth, under the blanket over them both.

Two of the wolves were venturing closer; he eyed them suspiciously, and so did the mule. Cowardly beasts, ghoulish in their bold stealth. Their fangs clicked savagely as one snarled at the other, their belly fringes dragged the ground while, chary of the fires, they slunk hither and thither,

The mule snorted. The Nez Percé girl protectively hugged the babe, and followed the movements of the

brutes. Reaching, she picked a brand from the fire and tossed it. The wolves shrank, their jaws clashed again like steel traps as they resented; and they again manoeuvered in the dimness. It really seemed as if they were bent upon getting around behind her. The old mule turned slowly, vicious and flat of ear.

The giant waited. His hand twitched for his rifle— but to arouse a sleeping camp with a shot at only wolves would be unpardonable. He could not understand that sense of perils which thrilled him.

The beasts were sidling on. The Nez Percé girl stiffened and she sprang backward.

"Dakotah! Dakotah!" she cried. "Sioux! Quick!"

CHAPTER IV

PEACE ON EARTH

WHAT a change! The wolves had metamorphosedthe covering robes had been flung aside, two Indians had issued, the old mule had fled, the horse herd was panicky, a chorus of wild whoops rocked the night, Black Harris had uncoiled like a jumping-jack-all taut in a moment; the whole camp had upheaved with eruption of robes and diving figures; shaft and ball spatted in from the darkness, sending twigs and fire flying; and the hand of a charging red was fast upon the braids of the girl as she ran for refuge.

The Mad Britisher roared, and was already out.

"Cache! Cache yoreselves!"

That had been Bridger's warning. Death invested the shelters and the firelight. But the Britisher was in full tilt, his rifle flourished; so quick he was that he met the writhing pair half-way. The arrow of the second Indian splintered upon his rifle grip and stung his eyes with the fragments. The girl's assailant sprang free, to duck and turn and face him; swung widely the gun landed plump against the ravisher's neck and he sprawled headlong. At crack of rifle from Black Harris the second fellow screeched, leaped high, spun, vainly clutching, and plunged flat-dead upon the frosted ground.

Now all the camp was ringed with whoop and shout and powder spurts. Half carrying, half dragging his breathless squaw and the baby, the giant himself bounded for the sanctum darkness; Black Harris scuttled rapidly and cached" also.

But to a furious crashing and snorting and fanfare of