Minneconjoux war party. He was dressed and decorated for the war trail. Naked above the waist, he had daubed and streaked his face, chest and arms with yellow clay. A great war bonnet of eagle plumes proclaimed his rank as a famous Ogalala war chief. His dress consisted of buckskin leggings, buffalo-hide moccasins, a buckskin breechcloth, and a silky cow buffalo robe for protection against wind and storm. He carried a wolfskin case containing his bow and arrows, a flint knife in a buckskin sheath, his buffalo-hide war shield, and a weasel-skin pouch containing his fire sticks and some dried meat. Mounted upon his best war pony, the dashing young warrior made a striking appearance as he rode proudly from the great Sioux camp.

Many friends shouted good wishes from the edge of the village. White Otter turned his pony, and answered them with the thrilling war-cry of the Dacotahs. Then he raced away toward the west.

Once beyond range of the camp, however, White Otter drew his pony to a walk, and carefully scanned the plain. He had little fear of encountering foes so near the Ogalala village, but he determined to take every precaution. A small band of antelope were feeding far away toward the south, and as they seemed to be the only living creatures on the vast expanse of plain White Otter urged his pony into a canter and proceeded on his way.

It was a glorious day in early summer. The sky was blue and cloudless. The prairie was dotted with flowers. Birds sang gayly from the thickets. The air was perfumed with the fragrance of blossoms, the sweet aroma of growing grass, and the faint, spicy scent of distant sage.

White Otter rode on his way in high spirits. He was carefree, and happy, and eager for adventure. The fact that he was about to expose himself to the perils of the war trail caused him slight concern. He had implicit confidence in the ability and courage of his tribesmen, the fearless Minneconjoux, and he had little doubt that their expedition against the powerful Blackfeet would be entirely successful. The thought of being injured or killed in the adventure never entered his mind. If it had he would have wasted little time upon it, as he had long since learned to scoff at danger, and to accept injury and death as inevitable possibilities in the life of every warrior.

Toward the end of the day White Otter came in sight of a familiar little grove of aspens which marked a former camp site. He had encountered a company of Ute warriors at that spot the previous year, and he was somewhat suspicious of it. It offered a splendid hiding place to foes, and the wily young Sioux determined to make sure that the place was unoccupied before he ventured within arrow range. He stopped at a safe distance out on the plain, and watched the grove with considerable anxiety. Then, as he saw nothing to arouse his suspicions, he rode slowly about the camp site, looking for fresh pony tracks. He soon discovered them. They led away from the grove. White Otter dismounted, and studied them with great care. He saw that it was the trail of a single pony, and the tracks were several days old. Having learned that much, he walked slowly ahead of his horse, watching carefully to discover where the trail had entered the grove.

"Perhaps it was Lean Wolf," he told himself.

He soon learned otherwise, as the trail approached the grove from the south. White Otter followed the tracks a short distance out on the plain, and found evidence which convinced him that the pony had carried a rider. As there seemed little to be gained by following the trail farther in that direction, he turned and followed it to the grove.

The camp site was unoccupied, and as there was a spring, and plenty of grass for his horse, White Otter decided to stop there for the night. He picketed his pony, and then began to examine the place for signs. The ashes from a small fire, and some charred bones scattered near by, told him that some one had spent the night at that spot several days before. He worked diligently to find a clew to the identity of the traveler, but found nothing which would tell him what he wished to know. The little mound of ashes, the remnants of a meal, and the pony tracks were his only clews.

The fact that the unknown horseman had come from the south aroused White Otter's interest. Both the Pawnees and the Utes lived to the southward. As he had already encountered a war party of the latter at the grove he wondered if it was a favorite stopping place for those mysterious foes. However, as the signs were at least two days old, the possibility caused him little concern.

Having finished his reconnaissance, White Otter seated himself at the edge of the grove to watch the plain. The sun had already set, and the purple evening shadows were creeping out of the east. The prairie appeared lifeless. The Sioux was at a loss to account for the scarcity of game. He feared that foes of some sort had driven it from the locality. The thought suggested the possibility that the lone rider was a scout, loitering behind a hunting party to watch for enemies.

At dark White Otter returned to his pony. He feared to make a fire, lest the gleam might betray him to his foes. He sat beside the little spring, and ate several cakes of pemmican, composed of dried meat and berries, which he had brought for just such an emergency.

Before he ventured to sleep, White Otter returned to the edge of the plain, and spent a long time listening for a warning of approaching enemies. The howling of some distant prairie wolves, the gentle rustling of the aspens, and an occasional grunt from his pony were the only sounds. He continued to listen, however, until the night was half gone. Then he returned to the camp site, and lay down to sleep.

Dawn was just breaking when White Otter was suddenly awakened by the snorting of his pony. Seizing his bow, he moved cautiously to the edge of the grove. A buck antelope was standing within easy bowshot. It had scented the pony, and stopped to investigate. Unable to resist the temptation, White Otter drove his arrow through its heart. It was a yearling in prime condition, and he cut a choice steak from the carcass. Then, as the light strengthened, and he saw no evidence of foes, he made a tiny fire and broiled the antelope meat. He ate heartily, and gave thanks to Wakantunka, the Great Mystery, for sending him food.

Shortly after sunrise White Otter resumed his journey toward the Minneconjoux camp. As the pony tracks led in that direction he followed them with keen interest. If the lone horseman really were a hostile scout, White Otter knew that to follow him would be the surest and safest way of locating any enemies who might be in the vicinity. He kept a sharp watch, therefore, and approached the knolls and ridges with great caution.

It was midday before he saw anything to make him suspicious. Then he discovered a dense cloud of dust rising behind a slight elevation of the plain. He immediately stopped to watch it. It suggested two possibilities—a herd of frightened buffaloes or a company of horsemen. White Otter longed to peep over the top of the ridge, but he realized that it would be folly to take the risk until he knew what was before him. He knew that hostile scouts might be watching from that spot, and the possibility made him cautious.

"Perhaps some one is hunting buffaloes," he said.

Realizing that he might have been seen, White Otter looked for a place of concealment. The plain was open and bare of shelter, however, and there was no chance to hide. He determined to remain where he was, hoping that something might appear along the crest of the ridge.

It was soon evident that whatever was