It seemed strange these things should be in a spot so silent and peaceful, under a sky so blue and gentle.
"Sioux!" said Auberry, looking down as he leaned on his long rifle.
"Not a wheel has crossed their trail, and I reckon the trail's blocked both east and west.

But the boys put up a fight." He led us here and there and showed dried blotches on the soil, half buried now in the shifting sand; showed us the bodies of a half-dozen ponies, killed a couple of hundred yards from the door of the dugout.
"They must have shot in at the front till they killed the boys," he added.

"And they was so mad they stabbed the horses for revenge, the way they do sometimes.

Yes, the boys paid their way when they went, I reckon." We stood now in a silent group, and what was best to be done none at first could tell.

Two of our party were for turning back down the valley, but Auberry said he could see no advantage in that.
"Which way they've gone above here no one can tell," he said.