A ranch house in the night, with shutters up, dogs barking, stock milling and fearful; and then Murray shouting:

"Indians?" Murray would demand. "No-I said no! No Indians! God damn you for fools,

sleeping folk like that." "Maybe if Indians woke you, you'd be pleased as the

devil, Sheriff." "Indians?" "Let him sleep," Murray said with disgust. "Ask him

they pushed through an old graybeard, scrawny, sleepy. "Here's my grandfather," Gatlow grinned. "Know the country? Ever scouted?" Murray demanded

"Dog Soldiers?" Murray asked. "Now, sonny, you tell me. There ain't no other In-

them." His first impulse was to push on immediately. It had

growing sleepy, nodding, dozing a little as he rode. Wint said:

"Pop, keep awake." "Sonny?" Murray pointed to the trail. "Lord, sonny," the old man said, "can't you follow that

are human, ain't they? They got to eat and sleep and rest. From what you tell me, they already run their horses half to death. Well, you just camp on their trail and maybe noontime, maybe sunset you'll come onto them."