me full in the eye. What hez Sitting Bull done wid my pard?"

This was uttered in a slow, but emphatic tone.

The Indian either could not or would not understand; he shook his head.

Pandy took a step forward, and his rifle was again raised menacingly.

"Looky hyar, ye lump o' dough, I'm inquirin' respectin' Bolly Wherrit, the big rover o' thar plains. White Thunder, do ye understand?"

Whether it was the hunter's threatening attitude that scared the warrior, or that he suddenly realized what was meant, can never be made manifest; certain it is he remembered just at this critical period.

"Ugh! mean White Thunder; him dead."

"Another lie. Now, redskin, how did he come ter die?" asked Pandy, who, although not believing this assertion, began to feel uneasy.

"Wagh! eat too much. Dine with Sitting Bull. No hab good tings afore; stuff full and burst. Run all ober. Ugh!" grunted this savage composedly.

"Thunder! thet air rich. How the ole man'll larf wen he hears it. Allers prided himself on bein' a light feeder; eat az much az a bird, him that I've seen git away wid a hull haunch o' venison while I war chawin' the tongue. Now, Yaller Hawk, allow me ter say I don't believe a word ye've sed; may be all is az true az Scripture, but I wouldn't like ter swar ye. I'll tell ye what I think. Bolly air a prisoner in yer camp. I tole him twar a fool's errand he started on, but a willing man must hev his way, az the feller sez, so he started widout me. I'm goin' into yer camp; tell Sitting Bull that I'll see him widin a week, and listen, Yaller Hawk. Does ther eagle car fur its mate? will thar she bar fight fur her cubs? Wal, I love Bolly Wherrit; he air my life, all I care about livin' fur. Mark my words, redskin; if any harm comes ter White Thunder, I swar Sitting Bull and his chiefs shall go under. Do yer hear? Then don't fail to report. That's all; ye can retire now, az ther cat sed when it had ther mouse by ther nape o' ther neck. Come, git, absquatulate, vamose the ranche."

An Indian's code is "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

Yellow Hawk had attempted the ranger's life, and he expected the latter to take his in just retaliation.

Therefore, he was not a little surprised at the words of his enemy, nor did his amazement retard his progress.

A moment and he was beyond the range of vision, having vanished among the trees.

Pandy Ellis, the trapper chief, was alone. He did not stay in his exposed position long, however, knowing full well the treacherous character of the foes he had to deal with, but plunging among the undergrowth himself, in a direction almost opposite to the one taken by the Indian, he made his way along, aiming for a certain spot.

This proved to be a small creek, on the further bank of which his horse was tethered.

Crossing over, the ranger mounted and rode away. The animal he bestrode was no mustang, but a tall, broad-breasted horse, capable not only of carrying heavy burdens and making fast time, but also of keeping up his pace.

Many years ago Pandy owned a quaint steed called Old Nancy, and in memory of that faithful equine friend had this animal been named.

Reaching the prairie, the ranger dashed out upon the open space and cantered along toward the north.

The grass was already high, and dotted here and there with beautiful wild flowers, that seemed to make the scene one of enchantment.

His gray eyes swept both the horizon and the ground before him with customary caution.

All at once the ranger brought Nancy to an abrupt halt, threw himself from the saddle and bent down to examine tracks in the soft earth.

"Glory! kin I b'lieve my eyes? A hull army o' 'em, az I'm a sinner. Ther report I heerd must be true then. My yallar-haired chief air on the war-trail, and when Custer gits on ther rampage thar's blood on ther moon."

CHAPTER II.

SITTING BULL'S GANG OF RED MARAUDERS.

The slanting rays of the rising sun fell upon an immense Indian encampment that stretched for several miles along the left bank of the Little Horn, and could hardly have been less than a mile in width.

Doubtless such a gathering of redmen had not taken place for many years.

In addition to the several lodges composing the village proper, scores and even hundreds of temporary brush-wood shelters had been hastily constructed, which significant fact went to show that this immense assemblage of warriors, numbering very nearly three thousand, was a gathering from different tribes.

That mischief was intended by these warlike Sioux could be presumed from the fact of their being painted as for battle.

The sun had been shining for some time when two mounted Indians, coming from the plains away beyond the distant range of hills, appeared almost simultaneously on the high bluffs that lined the right bank of the river.

Dashing down the steep inclined plane they forded the Little Horn and rode directly into the village.

One lodge, more conspicuous than its fellows, was situated near the center of the place, and even an inexperienced eye might have discovered in it the resting-place of a great chief, even though the only conviction came from seeing the many sub-chiefs that hovered near by.

These two hard riders reached the lodge at nearly the same time, and throwing themselves to the ground, left their sweltering horses to take care of themselves, while they entered with that boldness the bearers of exciting news generally possess.

Old Sitting Bull was busily engaged in an earnest confab with some half dozen chiefs, and although he spoke only once in a while, his words were listened to respectfully by the rest.

All eyes were turned upon the new-comers, and a hush fell upon the assembly, for something seemed to tell them that great news was on the tapis. Yellow Hawk, (for this discomfited chief was one of the hard riders) managed to get in the first word, and when it was known that the far-famed Pandy Ellis was in their immediate neighborhood, more than one of these dusky braves felt his heart beat faster, for there was a terrible meaning attached to the old ranger's honest name, for all evil-doers.

When, however, the second courier spoke, a wild excitement seized upon the chiefs.

Custer the hard fighter, the yellow-haired devil, whom they had always feared, was charging along their trail and aiming for the village like a thunderbolt, with his cavalry regiment at his back.

Indians are not accustomed to speaking their thoughts during times of excitement, but the news loosened their tongues, and for several moments a hubbub arose in the head chief's lodge.

In the midst of this several white men, garbed as Indians, but with their faces painted, entered.

A moment only was needed to become acquainted with the state of affairs, and then one of them, a squatty individual, who had long been a pest to the border, under the name of Black Sculley, spoke a few words in the ear of Sitting Bull.

Whatever he said does not concern my narrative, but it had its effect upon the chief, who immediately became calm, and made a motion toward one who stood at the entrance of the lodge as a sort of door-keeper.

This individual signaled the waiting chiefs outside, and in another moment fully forty well-known leading Sioux were clustered together.

Indian councils from the time of Red Jacket and Tecumseh back to time immemorial have been windy affairs, in which much eloquence and debate was needed to settle that which had already been decided before the argument commenced; for being natural born orators the red sons of the plains and forest liked to hear their own voices.

In contrast with these, this council was very brief, only lasting about five minutes.

This proved that their dealings with the whites had affected the redskins.

After the chiefs