Through the black night Brant stepped carefully across the recumbent forms of his men, and made his way to the field hospital.

In the glare of the single fire the red sear of a bullet showed clearly across his forehead, but he wiped away the slowly trickling blood, and bent over a form extended on a blanket.
"Has he roused up ?" he questioned of the trooper on guard.
"Not to know nuthin', sir.

He's bin swearin' an' gurglin' most o' ther time, but he's asleep now, I reckon." The young officer stood silent, his face pale, his gaze upon the distant Indian fires.

Out yonder were defeat, torture, death, and to-morrow meant a renewal of the struggle.

His heart was heavy with foreboding, his memory far away with one to whom all this misfortune might come almost as a death-blow.