Warrior Gap: A Story of the Sioux Outbreak of '68.

by Charles King

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  Five days later the women and children from Warrior Gap, most of thembereaved, all of them unnerved by the experiences of that awful day,arrived at old Fort Frayne, escorted by a strong command of infantry andall that was left of the cavalry troop at the stockade. A sad processionit was as it slowly forded the Platte and ascended the winding road tothe post, where sorrowing, sympathetic army women met and ministered tothem. With them, too, came such of the wounded as could be moved, and atthe head of the little squad of horse rode Lieutenant Dean, whom thepost commander and several officers greeted almost effusively.

  Yet almost the first question was, "Did you see any Indians?"

  "Not one," answered Dean. "They seem to have drawn away from the BigHorn road entirely. Why do you ask?" he added anxiously.

  "There were signal fires out at Eagle Butte last night, and I've justhad a letter from old Folsom at the ranch on the Laramie. He begs us tosend a guard at once, and I haven't a horseman. There's been the devilto pay at young Folsom's place."

  Dean's face went a shade paler. "What's happened?" he asked.

  "A dozen of his best horses run off by Birdsall's gang, probably toreplace those they lost in the flood, and Hal himself was shot and leftfor dead in the hills. He'd have died but for an Ogallalla girl and acouple of half-breeds who had a hunting lodge out near the Peak. Thereare letters for you at the office."

  There were two--one from Loomis, at Emory; one from Jessie, of allplaces in the world, at Folsom's ranch. This he read first.

  "We got here late night before last, after such an exciting journey, Marshall dear," said she, "and I can't begin to tell you all the strange things that have happened, for Mr. Folsom says the messenger must start for Fort Frayne in twenty minutes. That villain, Major Burleigh, who dared to speak ill of you, turned out to be as bad as I ever said he was. They haven't caught him yet, but they've got Captain Newhall. Mr. Folsom and Mr. Loring did that--caught him in the backyard of our house, down by the gate, and in some way Mrs. Fletcher induced him to come there, for he had the key of the safe at the quartermaster's depot, and was going to get the money Major Burleigh dared not take when he fled. I can't understand it at all, and Pappoose doesn't like to talk about it. But Mr. Folsom was robbed of lots of money by Major Burleigh. Mrs. Fletcher is mixed up in it in such a queer way, I can't explain how. She was nearly crazy when we came away, and Mr. Folsom was so good and kind to her, left a nurse with her, and made her stay at the house, although she wanted to pack her things and go to the hotel or the jail, she didn't care which; but he wouldn't let her.

  "And right in the midst of it all Ned Lannion, who came with news before, galloped in to tell how Halbert Folsom had been missing two days and Mrs. Folsom was crazy with fear, so Mr. Folsom left Lieutenant Loring to attend to all the matters about the robbery and started at once for the ranch, and Pappoose, of course, insisted on going with him, and I would not be left behind. And here we are. Now I can see the hills where you had the fight and wore Elinor's picture, and it was right out there among them that Halbert was found. Horse thieves had run off his best horses--the same gang of murderers that, they say, planned to trap you and that you outwitted. Oh! Marshall, was ever a girl so proud of her brother!--and they shot Hal and he was found and taken care of by some Indian people, tame ones, and one was a girl, Lizette, who had fallen in love with him four years ago. Wasn't it romantic? And she's gone again, but Hal is safe here, although Mrs. Folsom is more than half-crazy, and now old Mr. Folsom is worried to death, and says we must start back for home to-morrow. It's seventy-five miles and we don't want to go at all--only I'm so eager to see you, and I heard--at least Mr. Loomis told me you'd be back any day, and he has your troop till you come, and he's so fond of you--Oh, here's Pappoose to say this must go at once."

  The colonel sat watching the young fellow as he read. "Bad news, Dean?"he queried.

  "Every kind of news, sir. It's all a whirl. The devil seems to havebroken loose in Wyoming. Let me skim through Loomis' note.

  "DEAR DEAN: In case the letter sent yesterday passes you on the way, I add a line to say that if ever I said a mean thing about Loring when we were in the corps, I take it back. I thought him a prig when we wore the gray. He rather 'held us under' anyhow, being a class ahead, you know, but the way he has panned out here and wiped up Wyoming with the only men I ever knew that tried to wrong you is simply wonderful. He's nabbed three of the Birdsall gang and is away now after Burleigh. The news from Folsom's ranch is more reassuring. Hal was shot by horsethieves who were running off stock, and was found and taken care of by friendly Indians, but Mrs. Hal had an awful scare and sent for the old man, who went, of course--both young ladies going with him. They were miles away before we knew it at the fort. I tried to pursuade old Pecksniff that he ought to let me go with twenty troopers to guard the ranch and scout the Laramie, and he threatened to put me in arrest. Of all the double-dashed, pig-headed old idiots he's the worst. I don't want people at the ranch to be scared, but if the Sioux only would make some demonstration this way that would give me a chance. I'd try to earn a little of the reputation that you're winning, old boy, and no man knows better how much you deserve it than

  "Your friend and classmate, HANK L."

  "P. S.--Loring took ten of the troop into the Black Hills to beat up Burleigh, but he said if they struck Indian sign he meant to make for Folsom's ranch. Now, if we could only meet there!"

  The sun was well down at the west. The day's march had been long andtedious, as only cavalry marches are when long wagon trains have to beescorted. Dean had not yet fully recovered strength, but anxiety lenthim energy.

  "If Mr. Folsom says there is need of cavalry guard at the Laramie, it isbecause he dreads an other Indian visit, colonel. I have nine men ingood shape. Our horses are fresh, or will be after a few hours' rest.May I push on to-night?"

  And to the young soldier's surprise the elder placed a trembling handupon his shoulder and looked him earnestly in the eyes. "Dean, my boy,it's my belief you cannot start too soon. Do you know who Lizette is?"

  "I've heard the story," said Marshall briefly. "She must have beenhovering about there for some time."

  "Yes, and now her people know it, and it will rekindle their hatred. Themoment I heard of this I sent old Bat to watch the crossing at La Bonte.Not an hour ago this came in by the hand of his boy," and the colonelheld out a scrap of paper. It a rude pictograph, a rough sketch,map-like, of a winding river--another and smaller one separated from thefirst by a chain of mountains. The larger one was decorated by aflag-pole with stars and stripes at the top and a figure with musket andbayonet at the bottom. The smaller one by a little house, with smokeissuing from the chimney, and a woman beside it. Above all, its headover the mountains pointing toward the house, its tail extending northof the bigger stream, was a comet--the "totem" or sign of the Ogallallalover of Lizette. The story was told at a glance. Burning Star wasalready south of the Platte and lurking in the mountains near Folsom'sranch.

  That night, toward ten o'clock, an anxious council was held. HalbertFolsom, fevered by his severe wound, was lying half-unconscious on hisbed, his unhappy wife wandering aimlessly about at times, wringing herhands and weeping, evidently unbalanced by the terrors that had besether of late and the tidings of that awful Indian revenge along the BigHorn. Silent, helpful, almost commanding, Elinor spent the hourssometimes at her brother's bedside, then at that of her sister-in-lawwhen the poor creature could be induced to lie still a moment. The burlylittle son and heir, long since sound asleep in his cradle, was watchedover by Jessie, whose heart fluttered in dread she dare not say of what.Twice that afternoon she had seen whispered conferences between oldFolsom and Lannion. She knew that for some better reason than that hewas over
persuaded by Pappoose, Mr. Folsom had not carried out hisproject of sending them back to Gate City. She saw that he made frequentvisits to the cellar and had changed the arrangement of the air ports.She noted that the few ranch hands hung about the premises all day,their rifles ever within reach, and that often Mr. Folsom took theglasses and searched the road to Frayne. She saw that earth was beingheaped up in places against the ranch where the walls were thin or madeof boarding. She saw that water and provisions were being stored in thecellar, and she knew that it could all mean only one thing--that theIndians were again in force in the neighborhood, and that an Indiansiege was imminent.

  And all this time Pappoose, though very brave, was so still and sointent upon her duties. Even when supper was served for the ranch peoplein the kitchen that evening, as the sun went down, Jess noted that twoof the men kept constantly in saddle, riding round the buildings andanxiously scanning the open prairie on every side. There were only sixmen, all told now, including Folsom (of course not counting Hal, who wasdefenseless), altogether too small a number to successfully protect solarge a knot of buildings against an insidious and powerful foe, andeven of these six there were two who seemed so unstrung by tidings ofthe massacre as to be nearly nerveless.

  Darkness settled down upon the valley, and, though calm and collected,Folsom seemed oppressed by the deepest anxiety. Every now and then hewould step forth into the night and make a circuit of the buildings,exchange a word in low tone with some invisible guardian, for, heavilyarmed, the employes were gathered at the main building, and the wife andchildren of the chief herdsman were assigned to a room under its roof.Particularly did Folsom pet and encourage the dogs, two of them splendidmastiffs in whom Hal took unusual pride. Then he would return to hisson's bedside, bend anxiously over him and lay a loving hand onPappoose's lustrous hair. It must have been ten o'clock and a night windwas rising, making the occasional cry of the coyotes even more weird andquerulous, when they heard the sudden, fierce challenge of Trooper, thekeenest, finest of the mastiffs, and instantly his bark was echoed bythe rush and scurry of every canine on the place. The men on the porchsprang to their feet and Folsom hastened out to join them. The dogs hadcharged in the darkness toward the northeast, and somewhere out in thatdirection were now all furiously barking. Aloft the skies were heavilyclouded. The moon was banked and not a glimmer of light shone on earthor heaven. Suddenly, afar out over the prairie, beyond where the dogswere challenging, there was heard the sound of a pony's neigh, an eagerappeal for welcome and shelter, and Folsom sprang confidently forward,his powerful tones calling off the dogs. They came back, growling,sniffing, only half-satisfied, still bristling at the unseen visitor."War ponies never neigh," said Folsom. "Who are you, brothers--friends?"he called, in the Sioux tongue, and a faint voice answered from thedarkness, a pony came loping dimly into view, almost running over him,and in another minute an Indian girl, trembling with fear andexhaustion, had toppled from the saddle and clasped the old trader'shand.

  "Good God! Lizette," he cried, "you again? What is wrong?" for her headwas drooping, her knees giving way beneath her, as the poor childwhispered her answer:

  "Sioux coming--plenty braves! Hide--quick!"

  And Folsom bore her in his arms within.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  Never unless sure of its ground and the weakness of the adversary doesthe modern Indian band attack at night. Folsom and his people well knewthat. Yet not five minutes after the Indian girl, faint with exhaustionand dread, was carried within doors, the big mastiff challenged again.The dogs charged furiously out to the northeast and would not berecalled. For nearly half an hour they kept up their angry clamor. Timeand again during the night, suspicious and excited, they dashed outagain and again, and once one of them, venturing further than hisfellows, broke suddenly into loud cries of mingled pain and rage, andwhen at last he came whining piteously back to the ranch it was foundthat he was bleeding from a gash along the flank, where an Indian arrowhad seared him. Only by fits and starts did any man sleep. Hour afterhour Folsom's little garrison was on the alert. The women had all beenmoved to the deep, dry cellar, Mrs. Hal moaning over her baby, utterlyunnerved, Jessie silent, but white and tremulous; the herdsman's wife,an Amazon, demanded the right to have a gun and fight by her husband'sside; Lizette, the Indian girl, faint and starved, asked nothing but tobe allowed to crouch at the door of the room where Halbert lay, feveredand unconscious, and Pappoose, scorning danger, flitted from herbrother's bedside to her father's log-barricade at the east porch. Indread anxiety the hours dragged by, and at last Lannion reached forthhis hand and pulled the shirt sleeve of his comrade Jake, half-dozing athis side. In an instant the latter was kneeling at his post. "What isit?" he queried, and Lannion, pointing to the first faint, pallid gleamin the eastern sky, whispered: "Time to be up, man. It's coming."

  For half an hour, except for the rushing of the Laramie, a silencealmost unearthly had brooded over the prairie, and even the dogs seemedlulled to sleep. But now, as the cold light crept slowly over thedistant range, and a soft flush began to overspread the pallor of thedawn, far out over the valley the yelp of a coyote began again and allmen strained their ears and listened, while strong hands grabbed thegrowling dogs and pinned them to earth, for, beginning at the east, thecry was taken up on every side. Folsom's ranch seemed beleaguered by thegaunt, half-famished wolves of the upland prairies. "Look to yoursights, now, men! Down into the cellar, Pappoose!" exclaimed Folsom,kindling with fierce excitement. "I've been the friend of all that tribefor thirty years, but when they break faith with me and mine that endsit! Look to your sights and make every shot count!" he cautioned, as hemade the rounds of the little shelters thrown up during the past twodays. "We can stand off a hundred of 'em if you only keep your grit."

  Again the clamor as of coyotes ceased. It was only the Indian signal"Ready," and every ranchman knew that with the rising sun, if notbefore, the swoop would come. Again as the light broadened the dogs wereloosed and presently were challenging all four points of the compass.The unseen foe was on every hand.

  Perched as it was on a little rise, the ranch stood forth conspicuousover the valley. At the foot of the slope to the south lay the corraland some of the buildings, about one hundred yards away, where theshallow Laramie curled and lapped beneath their walls, and now the dogsseemed to concentrate their attention on that side. Folsom, rifle inhand, was kneeling on the porch, listening intently. Two of the handswere with him. Jake and Lannion, experienced and reliable, had beengiven independent posts on the other front, and just as objects could bedimly recognized along the flats, there burst upon the ears of thelittle garrison a sudden chorus of exultant yells. A tongue of flameleaped upward from beyond the huts lately occupied by the ranchmen. Thehalf-used haystacks caught and held one moment the fiery messenger, andthen in a broad glare that reddened the flood of the Laramie for milesand lighted up the ranch like a sunburst, gave forth a huge column ofblaze and smoke that could be seen far over the Black Hills of Wyoming,and all the valley seemed to spring to instant life. On every side arosethe stirring war-cry of the Sioux, the swift beat of pony hoofs, thering of rifle, and brave John Folsom's heart sank within him as herealized that here was no mere marauding party, but a powerful bandorganized for deliberate vengeance. The Laramie plains were alive withdarting, yelling, painted horsemen, circling about the ranch, hemming itin, cutting it off from the world.

  The bullets came whistling through the morning air, biting fiercely intothe solid logs, spattering the chinking, smashing pane after pane. Someof the dogs came howling and whining back for shelter, though themastiffs held their ground, fiercely barking and bounding about, despitethe whistles and calls from the besieged who sought to save them to thelast, but not once as yet had the ranch replied with a shot. Down in thecellar women clung together or clasped their wailing children andlistened fearfully to the clamor. In Hal's room the fevered suffererawoke from his stupor and, demanding his rifle, struggled to rise fromthe bed, and there John Folsom found Pa
ppoose, pale and determined,bending over her weakened brother and holding him down almost as shecould have overpowered a child. Lifting his son in his strong arms, hebore him to the cellar and laid him upon a couch of buffalo robes."Watch him here, my child," he said, as he clasped her in his arms onemoment. "But on no account let any one show above ground now. There aremore of them than I thought, yet there is hope for us. Somebody isvexing them down the Laramie."

  Bounding up the steps, the veteran was almost back at his post upon theporch when there came a sound that seemed to give the lie to his lastwords and that froze the hope that had risen in his breast--the suddenrumble and thunder of at least two hundred hoofs, the charging yell ofan Indian band, the sputter and bang of rifles close at hand, and then arush of feet, as, with faces agonized by fear, three of the men camedarting within. "It's all up! There's a million Indians!" they cried.Two of the demoralized fellows plunged into the passage that led to thecellar. One burst into childish wailing and clung to Folsom's knees.

  "Let go, you coward!" yelled the old man in fury, as he kicked himselfloose, then went bounding out upon the porch. God, what a sight!Sweeping up the gentle slope, brandishing rifles and lances andwar-clubs, racing for their hapless prey, came fifty Ogallallas, BurningStar among the leaders. Bullets could not stop them now. The two men whohad stood to their posts knelt grim and desperate, and Lannion's lastshot took effect. Within fifty yards of the walls Burning Star's rushingpony went down on his nose, and in the fury of his pace, turned suddenand complete somersault, crushing his red rider under him, andstretching him senseless on the turf. An inspiration, almost God given,seemed to flash upon the old trader at the instant. Bareheaded, in hisshirt sleeves, throwing upward and forward his empty hands, he sprangout as though to meet and rebuke his assailants. "Hold!" he cried, inthe tongue he knew so well "Are my brothers crazed? Look! I am no enemyIt is your friend! It is old John!" And even in the rage of theircharge, many Indians at sight of him veered to right and left; manyreined up short within ten paces of the unarmed man; two sprang fromtheir ponies and threw themselves between him and their brethren,shouting to be heard. And then in the midst of furious discussion, someIndians crying out for the blood of all at the ranch in revenge forChaska, some demanding instant surrender of every woman there inexpiation for Lizette, some urging that old John be given respectfulhearing, but held prisoner, there came lashing into their midst a youngbrave, crying aloud and pointing down the now well-lighted valley where,darting about a mile away, a few Indians were evidently striving to headoff the coming of some hostile force. Leaving two or three of theirnumber trying to restore consciousness to the stricken chief, and adozen, Folsom's advocates among them, to hold possession of the ranch,away scurried most of the warriors at top speed to the aid of theiroutlying scouts.

  Meantime, under cover of the fierce argument, Jake and Lannion hadmanaged to crawl back within the building. Folsom himself, in such calmas he could command, stood silent while his captors wrangled. Thewarriors who pleaded for him were Standing Elk, a sub chief of note,whose long attachment to Folsom was based on kindnesses shown him when ayoung man, the other was Young-Shows-the-Road, son of a chief who hadguided more than one party of whites through the lands of the Siouxbefore the bitterness of war arose between the races. They had lovedFolsom for years and would not desert him now in the face of popularclamor. Yet even their influence would have failed but for the soundthat told of hotter conflict still among the foothills along theopposite side of the valley. With straining ears, Folsom listened, hopeand fear alternating in his breast. The mingling yells and volleyingtold that the issue was in doubt. Man after man of his captors gallopedaway until not half a dozen were left. Now, Jake and Lannion could haveshot them down and borne him within, but to what good? Escape from theranch itself was impossible! Such action would only intensify the Indianhate and make more horrible the Indian vengeance. For twenty minutes theclamor continued, then seemed to die gradually away, and, with fury intheir faces, back at full gallop came a dozen of the braves. One glancewas enough. They had penned their foe among the rocks, but not withoutthe loss of several at least of their band, for the foremost rode withbrandished war-club straight at Folsom, and despite the leap of his twochampions to save, felled the old trader with one stunning blow, thengave the savage order to burn the ranch.

  By this time the sun was just peering into the valley. The smoke andflame from the corral were dying or drifting away. Eagerly half a dozenyoung braves rushed for faggots and kindling with which to do hisbidding, and a cry of despair went up from within the walls. Recklesslynow Lannion and his comrade opened fire from the loopholes and shot downtwo of the dancing furies without, sending every other Indian to thenearest cover. But the arrows that came whistling speedily werefirebrands. The besiegers gained in force with every moment. Poor oldFolsom, slowly regaining senses as he lay bound and helpless down by thestream, whither his captors had borne him, heard the jeers and shouts oftriumph with which the Indians within the corral were rapidly makingtheir fire darts, when suddenly there rose on the morning air a soundthat stilled all others, a sound to which the Indians listened insuperstitious awe, a sound that stopped the hands that sought to burnout the besieged and paralyzed just long enough all inspiration ofattack. Some of the Indians, indeed, dropped their arms, others sprangto the ponies as though to take to flight. It was the voice of Lizette,chanting the death song of the Sioux.

  An hour later, once more in force, the band was gathered for its rushupon the ranch. Jake, gallant fellow, lay bleeding at his post. Hope ofevery kind was well-nigh dead. The silence without was only portent ofthe storm so soon to burst. Pappoose, grasping her brother's rifle,crouched facing the narrow entrance to the cellar. Jessie clung to thebaby, for Mrs. Hal, only dimly conscious, was moaning by her husband'sside, while Lizette in silence was kneeling, watching them with strangeglitter in her eyes. Suddenly she started, and with hand to ear,listened intently. Then she sprang to an air port and crouched there,quivering. Then again the ground began to tremble under the distantthunder of pony feet, louder and louder every second. Again came therush of the Indian braves, but with it no exultant yell, only cries ofwarning, and as this sound swept over and beyond their walls, therefollowed another, the distant, deep-throated trooper cheer, the crack ofcarbine, the rising thunder of the cavalry gallop, and then the voice ofNed Lannion rang jubilantly over the dull clamor.

  "Up! Up, everybody! Thank God, it's Dean and the boys!"

  * * * * *

  Long years after, in the camps and stockades and the growing towns ofthe far West that almost marvelous rescue was the theme of many anhour's talk. The number of men who took part in it, the number of hardyfellows who personally guided the troops or else stood shoulder toshoulder with Ned Lannion at the last triumphant moment, increased sorapidly with the growing moons that in time the only wonder was thatanything was left of the Sioux. Official records, however, limited thenumber of officers and men engaged to a select few, consisting entirelyof Lieutenant Loring, United States Engineers, Lieutenant Loomis, --thInfantry, a few men from scattered troops, "pickups" at Frayne andEmory, with Lieutenant Marshall Dean and fifty rank and file of Company"C."

  Loring, it will be remembered, had taken a small detachment from Emoryand gone into the hills in search of Burleigh. Loomis, fretting at thefort, was later electrified by a most grudgingly given order to march tothe Laramie and render such aid as might be required by the engineerofficer of the department. Dean, with only fifteen men all told, haddashed from Frayne straight for the ranch, and, marching all night, hadcome in sight of the valley just as it was lighted afar to the eastwardby the glare of the burning buildings. "We thought it was all over,"said he, as he lay there weak and languid, a few days later, for thewound reopened in the rush of the fight, "but we rode on to the Laramie,and there, God be thanked! fell in with Loomis here and "C" Troop,heading for the fire. No words can tell you our joy when we found theranch still standing and some forty Sio
ux getting ready for the finaldash. That running fight, past the old home, and down the valley wherewe stirred up Loring's besiegers and sent them whirling too--why, I'dgive a fortune, if I had it, to live it over again!"

  But Loring, after all, had the most thrilling story to tell--of how hewormed a clew to Burleigh's hiding place out of a captured outlaw andbeat up the party in a nook of the hills, nabbed the major asleep, butwas warned that all the Birdsall "outfit" would rally to the rescue, andso sent a courier to Emory for "C" Troop, and, making wide _detour_ toavoid the gang, ran slap into the Sioux in the act of firing Folsom'sranch. Then he had to take to the rocks in the fight that followed, andhad a desperate siege of a few hours, even Burleigh having to handle agun and fight for his life. "I spotted him for a coward that day westumbled on Red Cloud's band up by the Big Horn. You remember it, Dean,I thought him a villain when I learned how he was trying to undermineyou. Time proved him a thief and a scoundrel, but, peace to his ashes,he died like a gentleman after all, with two Indian bullets through him,and just as rescue came. He had time to make full confession, and it wasall pretty much as I suspected. The note Dean picked up at Reno, that sostampeded him, told how a blackmailing scoundrel was on his way to Emoryto expose him unless headed off by further huge payments. It was thefellow who called himself Newhall."

  "The fellow who gave the tip to Birdsall's people?" said old Folsom atthis juncture, raising a bandaged head from his daughter's lap. "Who washe, really?"

  "Burleigh knew all the time and I suspected the moment I heard MissFolsom's description, and was certain the instant I laid eyes on him. Hewas a rascally captain cashiered at Yuma the year before, and I wasjudge advocate of the court."

  "And Mrs. Fletcher?" asked Pappoose, extending one hand to Jess, whilethe other smoothed the gray curls on her fathers forehead.

  "Mrs. Fletcher was his deserted wife, one of- those women who have knownbetter days."

  The ranch is still there, or was twenty years ago, but even then theSioux were said to raise more hair in the neighborhood than Folsom didcattle. The old trader had been gathered to his fathers, and Mrs. Hal tohers, for she broke down utterly after the events of '68. NeitherPappoose nor Jessie cared to revisit the spot for some time, yet, oddlyenough, both have done so more than once. The first time its chroniclerever saw it was in company with a stalwart young captain of horse andhis dark-eyed, beautiful wife nine years after the siege. Hal met us, ashy, silent fellow, despite his inches. "Among other things," said he,"Lieutenant and Mrs. Loomis are coming next week. I wish you might allbe here to meet them."

  "I know," said Mrs. Dean, "we are to meet at Cheyenne. But, Hal, where'syour wife?"

  He looked shyer still. "She don't like to meet folks unless----"

  "There's no unless about it," said the lady with all her old decision asshe sprang from the ambulance, and presently reappeared, leading by thehand, reluctant, yet not all unhappy, Lizette. Some people said HalFolsom had no business to marry an Indian girl before his wife was deadthree years, but all who knew Lizette said he did perfectly right, atleast Pappoose did, and that settled it. As for Loring--But that'senough for one story.

  THE END.