DUSKY DICK:

 OR,

 OLD TOBY CASTOR'S GREAT CAMPAIGN

 A STORY OF THE LAST SIOUX OUTBREAK.


 BY JOS. E. BADGER, Jr.,

 AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWING POCKET NOVELS.

 59. The Texas Hawks.
 63. The Florida Scout.


 NEW YORK:
 BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
 98 WILLIAM STREET.




 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
 BEADLE AND COMPANY,
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.




DUSKY DICK.




CHAPTER I.

DUSKY DICK'S PROPOSAL.


"Annie, girl, who is that coming up the spring path? Ah me! I fear my
old eyes are beginning to fail me at last!"

"Coming up the--ugh! father, it is that Dick Morgan!"

"Dusky Dick--what can he want here, I wonder?" and there was cadence of
mingled uneasiness and dislike perceptible in the old man's tones that
told but too plainly the advancing figure was not that of a welcome or
respected guest.

The first speaker was an old man, whose head was frosted by the snows
of over half a century and whose form--still athletic and supple--was
beginning to bow beneath the weight of years. An honest, open face was
that of old Edward Wilson; a true index of his heart.

He was sitting in the doorway of his humble log cabin, smoking the
well-blackened pipe as a dessert to supper, just finished. But as he
spoke the last words, he roused himself up and stood with crossed arms
in the doorway, as though he would fain bar the intruder out, who was
now within a few paces of the building.

The form of this man was clothed in a rough garb of tanned skin and
woolen stuff, despite the warm weather, and a broad-brimmed slouched
hat rested upon his head, concealing the upper portion of his face from
casual view. A long barreled rifle rested carelessly in the hollow of
his left arm, while the haft of a knife, and a revolver butt peeped
from the belt at his waist.

"Good evenin', Wilson, and the same to you, Miss Annie," he uttered
in a strong clear voice, as he half paused, and then with a careless
gesture pushed the hat away from his brow.

The clear mellow light of the full moon shone down upon him, and
fairly revealed his features. A glance at them may not be amiss, as
this worthy is destined to figure somewhat prominently in our narrative.

At the first glance, a strange peculiarity about him would attract the
gaze, and leave an unpleasant impression upon the mind of the beholder.
And yet it was not that the man was so hideous, in features.

But there was a strange tint to his entire face and neck that
involuntarily repelled one. And from this had come the _sobriquet_,
known far and wide throughout the western country of DUSKY DICK.

Indeed, more than one person who was well acquainted with him, would
have been puzzled to have told whether he ever had any other name, or
if this was not the one by which he had been christened, supposing that
ceremony had ever been performed. And Morgan seemed to be rather proud
of the title, than otherwise.

In some way he had been badly burned by an explosion of powder, and
though no other scars were perceptible, this bluish tinge caused by
the burned powder penetrating the skin, remained clear and distinct.
The dye did not fade as he grew older, but seemed to deepen and show
brighter.

His features were regular and clear cut; his face was kept smooth
shorn, though the black, Indian-like hair hung far down his shoulders.
There were not a few who secretly asserted that he came by this last
trait fairly, and wondered only that he had not the curved nose and
high cheek-bones as well.

His black eyes were of a fair size, but dull and sleepy looking, save
when he was angered; then one was strangely reminded of an infuriated
serpent, so wickedly did they flash and scintillate. In form he was
tall, broad-shouldered and well built, being somewhat noted for his
skill in the use of weapons, fleetness of foot and prowess as a
wood-ranger.

"Good-evening, Dick," coldly uttered the settler in reply, evidently
not caring to encourage the man, as he still stood in the narrow
doorway, without a hint for the other to enter.

"Heard the news?" added Dusky Dick, as a slight frown crossed his face,
and a smoldering glow lit up his dark eyes.

"No--I don't know as I have. What is it?" listlessly responded Wilson
as he deliberately crushed up some "natural leaf," and crammed it into
the wide-mouthed pipe-bowl. "Bring me a coal, Annie."

"'Bout the red-skins. They've got thar backs up at last and thar's
goin' to be the tallest kind of a muss, afore the thing's over," and
there seemed to be a faint tinge of exultation in the tones of the
speaker, that did not escape the keen witted borderer.

"How is it that _you_ know so much of their feelings, Dusky Dick? A
body might almost think you were one of them, by the way you talk."

Morgan gave vent to a low laugh; deep, smooth and mellow, but yet
filled with a peculiar meaning. Then he replied:

"I travel fur and keep my ears open, neighbor, as a man must needs to
in these troubled times, and in a new country. I have kivered nigh
onto fifty miles to-day, since sun-up. I stopped here to tell you the
news. If you think it's wuth offerin' a feller a cheer, and a bite of
somethin' to eat, I'll tell you it all. If not, then we'll call it
quits and I'll go furder."

"Come in--I did not think," added Wilson, a little abashed, for border
hospitality is proverbial. "Annie, give him what we have. Fall to,
friend, and welcome."

With a nod toward Mrs. Wilson who was seated at the further end of the
rude apartment, quietly knitting, Dusky Dick took a seat at the table
and helped himself liberally to the plain though palatable viands that
Annie hastened to replace upon the table. The girl then ignited a rude
lamp, and retreated to the side of her mother.

We do not intend describing the building; most of our readers have
seen these cabins, either in reality or through the medium of print.
It was a regular frontier cabin, made of logs roughly hewn, "chinked"
with billets of wood, daubed over with stiffened clay. The walls were
unpapered, and the furniture of the rudest description, the majority
being "home made;" the ax and auger being the principal tools used.

But one of the inmates at least deserves more than a passing notice as
she will figure quite prominently before the reader in this tale of
border life and trials. That one is Annie Wilson.

Barely five feet in hight, she was a model of feminine grace
and beauty, tempered and strengthened by the life of freedom and
health-giving exercise of the past two years. Her form had filled and
rounded to superb symmetry, her cheek glowed with the hue of health and
spirits; at eighteen, she was a woman, in the truest sense of the word.

Her hair was of a rich golden brown, her eyes, large and lustrous,
were deeply blue; her nose, of a faintly Roman type, gave a decisive
expression to her countenance, that was softened by the small,
ruby-lipped mouth, from which gleamed twin rows of pearly teeth
whenever she smiled, and caused a cunning dimple to play upon the
softly-rounded chin.

Dusky Dick ate voraciously, but yet found time to cast more than one
admiring glance toward the border beauty, which were by no means
welcome, judging from the scornful turn of the bright red lips, and the
flashing of her blue eyes as the maiden bent over some rough mending.
Then Morgan arose and approached the settler, who was still smoking.

"You don't ask me the news," he uttered, in a disagreeable tone as he
squatted down upon the doorstep.

"I knew you'd tell it without," was the quiet reply.

"Yes, that's what I stopped fer. The Sioux are goin' to raise
partic'lar Cain 'fore long."

"Are you sure?"

"I hed it from thar own lips," was the confident reply.

"You seem to be very thick with them, Dick. Some might think it strange
they should tell you this, unless you were in with them thicker than an
honest man should be," and the settler gazed keenly at his visitor.

"They'd best not say so in _my_ hearin'," muttered Morgan with an
ominous scowl. "But I've al'ays acted on the square with 'em, and so
they give me the hint. It's been brewin' for a long time, and they've
made up thar minds not to stand any more of this everlastin' cheatin'.
But never mind that jest now. I had other motives in stoppin' here,"
and Dusky Dick cast a sidelong glance at the sturdy settler; a glance
that had in it not a little uneasiness.

"If there is any thing else that I should know, Dick Morgan, now's the
time to say it."

"What d' you intend doin', anyhow?"

"About what?"

"Why--the Injuns, o' course."

"They will not trouble me--anyhow, I shall stay here until I am more
sure of what they intend doing. I won't leave my property without good
cause."

"You'll git rubbed out, then, shore. You remember Sloan Young? You
turned him out o' doors once, because he was drunk--"

"Because he insulted the women, the dirty half-breed," angrily
interjected Wilson.

"Well, I don't know. Anyhow, he's a big man 'mong some o' the Injuns,
and he swears he will use this chance to rub you out. Now I don't like
Young, and I'll save you, if you say so. _Petit Corbeau_ is a strong
friend o' mine, and will back me ag'inst Young. What do _you_ say?"

"Speak plain. You are holding something back, Dusky Dick. Why should
you do all this for me? We have not been such close and intimate
friends as all that comes to. What is it you mean?"

The other appeared somewhat discomposed at this straightforward speech,
and his treacherous eyes shifted uneasily and fell from before the
steady gaze of the old settler. But then he responded, with a forced
laugh:

"You're in a awful hurry, Wilson, but so be it. I'll come to the p'int
at once, and then we may see the way clear before us. Then it 'mounts
to jest this. I'll agree to save your stock, house, crap and your
lives. I'll engage that you sha'n't be bothered a mite, no matter how
badly other families are sarved. It'll be a great trial and trouble, of
course, and I won't do it 'thout pay--_big_ pay, I expect you'll call
it; but then remember what I save you."

"Come to the point, man; don't skirmish so," impatiently interrupted
the borderer, eying Dusky Dick steadily.

"Well, I'll do this, as I said, if you'll--if you'll promise me that
Miss Annie yander, shall marry me, jest's soon's this trouble is fa'rly
over. There, now!" and the fellow uttered a sigh of relief.

"Father!" exclaimed Annie, rising from her chair.

"Wait, daughter," and Wilson waved his hand for her to keep silence.
"Dick Morgan, are you in earnest about this matter?"

"In 'arnest? Why, of course I am. I'll do all I--"

"Hold on--don't take too much for granted, my man, or you may be
disappointed. I thought you knew me better than to come here with any
such proposition as this. But since you did not, let me tell you that I
think you are a precious fool and dirty scoundrel, and that the sooner
you take yourself away from here, the better it will be for both of
us," and the stalwart settler arose erect, his eyes flashing and his
fists close clenched.

"Stand back, Ed. Wilson--keep your distance or it'll be the worse for
_you_!" muttered Dusky Dick, as he involuntarily retreated a pace, at
the same time throwing his rifle-muzzle forward.

"Don't threaten--you cowardly cur, or I'll forget myself and give you
something to growl at. There is your road. Take it and begone, and
don't let me ever see your ugly face 'round here again. Go!"

"Hold on a bit, Wilson," and a vicious glitter filled the desperado's
eyes as his fingers nervously manipulated the rifle-lock. "Better think
twice afore you throw away your chance. I tell you ag'in, that if you
don't agree to my plans, you won't live to be a day older. You'll
all be killed and skelped. You can't run away, fer you're watched by
those who would be only too glad of a chance to plug ye! Do as I said;
promise me _her_, and I'll save you all. If you don't, then--"

"Hold!" rung out a clear, firm voice, as a light, agile figure sprung
before the sturdy settler. "Hold! Uncock that gun, or I'll send a
bullet through your black heart! Uncock it, I say--and now leave!"

It was Annie who had thus interrupted the conversation, and probably
prevented a tragedy, for the treacherous villain had cocked his rifle,
unobserved by Wilson, intending to shoot down one whom he feared to
face openly. But the watchful eye of the daughter had noted his action,
and, grasping the ready rifle, had checked his purpose, as detailed.

Edward Wilson realized the peril he had so narrowly escaped, and, as
the baffled villain shrunk back from before the threatening muzzle
pointed by the dauntless girl, he uttered a cry of rage, and with one
enormous bound, covered the intervening distance and stood beside Dusky
Dick. Then one brawny hand clutched the scoundrel's throat, while the
other arm was drawn back to deliver a crushing blow.

Morgan dropped his rifle to remove the grip upon his throat, the weapon
exploding as it fell. But before he could raise a hand, the hard, heavy
fist of the settler shot out and alighted full between his eyes, with a
crushing _thud_, hurling the man twice his length away.

With an angry howl, Morgan sprung up and whipped out his knife--a long,
venomous-looking blade--and crouched down like a panther ready to
spring. Then again did the voice of Annie ring out:

"Mind yourself, Dusky Dick! I have you covered, and I know how to use a
rifle. One step forward and down you go!"

"You see we have the best of you this time," quietly added Wilson,
but with a menacing ring in his low voice. "Take your gun and begone.
'Twould only serve you right if I shot you down like a dog--as you
meant to serve me; but I let you go this time. But the next--_look
out_!"

Dusky Dick did not reply until he had secured his rifle. Then
retreating a pace he spoke:

"And _you_ look out. You've struck me. Good! A man never does that a
_second_ time. I'll be even with you yet--and with _her_, too. You hold
the cards now--my time 'll come soon. Jest put that in your pipe and
smoke it. May be you'll remember it afore long," and with a hard laugh
the baffled desperado turned away from the spot.

The settler stood gazing after him irresolutely for a moment, but then
turned toward the cabin door. Annie's voice checked him:

"Who is that coming, father?"

A tall agile figure was rapidly approaching the cabin from the not
very distant woods, bearing a rifle, as could be seen by the clear
moonlight. But whether an Indian or a white, could not be told, as the
dress partook about equally of both races.

"Hellow, _you_!" cried a high-pitched, peculiar voice, that plainly
bespoke the white man. "Ain't shootin' at the moon, be ye? Got plenty
o' powder, I reckon?"

"Tobe Castor, by all that's good!" exclaimed Wilson, springing forward
to meet the new-comer, in evident delight. "You are just the man of all
others that I wanted to see."

"Sho! don't say so? Want to know? Ain't jokin', be ye?" and then the
two men warmly clasped hands, like friends of a life-long standing.

"Come, Tobe; supper's over, but I guess there is something left. What
brought you up this way so early in the season?"

"Don't ax me now--wait ontil _they_ ain't lis'enin'," muttered the man,
cautiously; then adding aloud: "How d'y, Miss Annie? Purtier'n ever, by
gum! Beats all natur' how you do keep on a gittin' so. Sorter selfish,
ain't ye, now? Got your own an' a dozent more besides--o' good looks, I
mean. Wings 'most beginned to grow, hain't they?" and with a fatherly
freedom, the weather-beaten old borderer stooped and imprinted a kindly
kiss upon the fair face upturned toward his.

"Your tongue has lost none of its cunning, I see, anyhow Uncle Tobe,"
laughed the maiden, not unpleased.

"It's a lookin' glass, so fur's _you're_ consarned, gal. But ef you
will, I'm dretful hungry--hain't hed a bite fur 'most two weeks, 'cept
at odd spells. Ef you've got any thin' in the grub line thet is in
danger o' bein' sp'iled, jest please trot it out, while I talk with Ed,
hyar."

In obedience to a nod from Castor, Wilson led the way to a little
distance and then briefly detailed the purport of Dusky Dick's visit.
Then he anxiously awaited the comments of his visitor.

"The dirty whelp! You'd orter 'a' shot him like a polecat! _He_
merry--oh! _git_ out! Makes me _mad_--durned ef it don't, now! Jest
to think. Oh _won't_ I--thet's all; ef ever I git mud-hooks on the
pesky critter? But wait a bit. He told you the truth, Ed; yas, he did,
so fur's the reds risin' is consarned. They're goin' to do it--ef
i'deed they hain't begun a'ready. They're jest goin' to chaw up the
hull kentry afore they stop. Thar's goin' to be jest a _lettle_ the
liveliest time you _ever_ see'd, 'fore its eended."

"Do you think so?"

"I _know_ so--fer shure. An' you're in a bad place hyar--a pesky mean
place, Ed," impressively added Castor.

"What do you advise?"

"Jest this. Take your fambly an' pack up. Git out o' hyar like 'twas
ha'nted. Pull up stakes an' travel."

"And leave the farm--lose my two years of hard work?"

"Better thet, then lose your skelps an' it with the rest. An' thet's
jest what you'll do ef you stay. I tell you, Ed, it's a ser'ous
bizness, this is. Dusky Dick told you the truth o' the plans o' the
imps. An' then you've sot _him_ ag'inst you, too. He's got Injun blood
in him. A pity it happined jest now, though I don't blame you, not a
bit, but you'd orter never 'a' let him git away. He'll bring the imps
down on ye, _shore_. He's a big dog 'th a brass collar 'mongst _some_
o' them--the wust o' the lot, ef thet kin be, whar all is so bad.
_He's_ the one you must look out fer, the most."

"You think he's in league with them?"

"I _know_ it, fer shore. But whar's Fred?"

"Over at Stevens'."

"Mought 'a' knowed _thet_ 'thout axin'; but I don't blame the feller
a mite. Jinnie's a mighty purty gal, an' ef I wasn't so old an' ugly,
an' she wasn't so smart, an' all else went 'cordin', an' she didn't say
_no_, durned ef I didn't hitch onto her _myself_. But never mind thet
now. What're you goin' to do?"

"What do you advise, Tobe?"

"Jest this. Take sech things as you cain't do 'thout an' don't want to
leave, an' strike out fer the bigger settlements. I tell you, ef you
stay hyar, to-morrow this time won't see ary one o' your skelps on the
place whar natur' 'lowed fer 'em to grow," earnestly added Castor.

"Father," called out the clear, sweet voice of Annie, at this juncture,
"all's ready."

"Come, Tobe; eat a bite and I will settle my plans. I'll let you know
then," added Wilson, turning toward the cabin.




CHAPTER II.

A FORTUNATE DISCOVERY.


Casual mention has been made of one "Fred," who was the eldest
child--and only surviving son--of Edward Wilson. He had left the forest
cabin only a few minutes before the advent of Dusky Dick, barely taking
time to finish his supper.

Tobe Castor was correct in his shrewd guess as to what had attracted
him so far, after a hard day's work; although probably Fred would have
denied the "soft impeachment," had any one told him that it was only to
see and chat with Jennie Stevens, that he so frequently traversed the
three-mile path that intervened between the two houses. But such was
indeed the case.

And if the truth must be told, Fred had a faithful ally in the enemy's
camp, too, in the shape of John Stevens, who appeared to be profoundly
impressed with the good qualities of the young borderer, and seemed
resolved that Jennie should also entertain the same ideas. But Jack
would have been very wroth, no doubt, had any one hinted that he was
playing a part; that it was partly the reflected light of Annie's
perfections that made him so esteem Fred.

The latter personage, then, was swiftly striding along the
faintly-defined trail, his thoughts busy with a momentous subject. He
was picturing the future as he would wish it to be a home, a wife--who,
strangely enough, always possessed Jennie's face and form--a growing
family of little ones--when suddenly he paused and bent his head in an
attitude of acute attention.

He heard a shrill, peculiar whistle ring out from only a few yards
before him, evidently in the same trail. But what increased his
surprise, was that an answer came, like an echo; this time from some
little distance to his right.

Fred knew that the country was in a troubled state; he had closely
watched the signs that portended the coming of a storm that, should
it fall, would sweep all before it with resistless fury. And now a
premonition of coming peril weighed upon his spirit like a revelation.

Without pausing to reflect, he glided out from the path and crouched
down amid the dense undergrowth, his ears strained to catch any sounds
that might either confirm or banish his suspicions. At first he could
hear nothing, but then the low murmuring of human voices was borne to
his hearing upon the gentle night breeze.

He knew that the speakers, whoever they might be, were approaching,
and in a few moments more Fred could distinguish the words, which were
spoken in the Sioux dialect. Thanks to a border life and acquiring
spirit, the young settler was slightly conversant with the _patois_;
sufficiently so to follow the meaning of the speakers.

The first words he caught, caused his heart to throb wildly, and he
crouched forward, fearing almost to breathe, lest he should lose a
sentence.

"Then we are to strike the first blow to-night?"

"Yes. Inkpaduta gave the word and said that _Petit Corbeau_ told him
so. He bade Long Hair take his choice. He chose the people of the lodge
by the great stone. Dusky Dick chose the one--"

Here the words became unintelligible to the listener, the party having
passed on by his place of concealment.

Fred arose and glided stealthily after them. He had no difficulty in
recognizing the allusion to "the people by the great stone." He knew
that the Stevens family was meant, but he desired to learn more, if
possible.

The trail was dark and gloomy, owing to the dense shade cast by the
thickly-growing trees, that intercepted the moon's rays. But after a
few moments, Fred heard the Indians pause and seat themselves at only a
few yards from the trail.

He glided nearer, until he could again hear their words. The same
person was speaking that he had heard before.

"We will wait here for Long Hair. It will not be long before he comes."

"Where is Bob-tailed Horse?" asked another of the party.

"Gone to the lodge by the great rock. He will open the doors for us
that we may strike without being hurt. He is to pretend his leg is
hurt, so that he can not walk to his lodge, and will ask to rest there.
Then when the pale-faced fools sleep, he will open the doors and let us
in."

"Good! there are five scalps for us!" exultantly uttered one of the
savages.

"No--only four. One Eye says that the young squaw must go to his lodge,
or he will not help us."

The other demurred a little at this, but he was overruled by his
comrades. Fred clutched his rifle with fingers that itched to be at the
throats of the plotting scoundrels; but he restrained himself, and then
glided stealthily away, thus losing information that would have still
further increased his anxiety, for a diabolical plan was commented
upon, concerning his own family.

But the young settler had heard enough to set him half-wild. He knew
that the maiden whom he loved, was in great peril, and that thought,
for the time, drove all other considerations away.

He understood the allusion to One Eye, the Indian name of Sloan Young,
the half-breed, whose left eye had been destroyed in a drunken fight.
And he, too, was the Long Hair mentioned. Fred knew that the villain
had been prowling around the cabin quite frequently of late, though the
thought of his daring to look upon Jennie in such a light, never once
occurred to him, before this.

The one called Bob-tailed Horse, Fred also knew by reputation, as being
a reckless, unscrupulous rascal, drunken and worthless, unless in just
some such manner as the one hinted at. But this plan he would foil, at
all hazards.

So when once safely beyond ear-shot, Fred arose and dashed through the
forest with nimble feet, but yet using a degree of caution, for since
hearing the revelations of the plotters, he knew not where or when he
might encounter deadly enemies, who would scruple little in taking his
life, provided they could do so without incurring too much risk to
themselves.

In half an hour more, Wilson neared the cabin belonging to Wesley
Stevens, and when almost at the door, he met John, who was just
sallying out to visit the Wilsons. Fred drew him aside and quickly
detailed what he had overheard.

The young man was greatly excited by these tidings, but managed to
control his feelings, in a measure.

"Are you sure you heard those words? May there not be some mistake?" he
asked, dubiously.

"I only wish there was--but I know better. Depend upon it, it is true.
Is that Indian in the house?"

"Bob-tail? Yes. He came in not long ago, pretending to be lame, tired
and hungry."

"You see! the very story I heard he was to tell! The dirty imp!"
muttered Fred, angrily, while his blue eyes flashed ominously.

"What had we better do, anyhow?"

"First, I intend to settle with this devil; then we must decide
further. I think, though, it would be best for the family to all go
over to our house, and then if it is deemed best, we should try to
reach the settlements below; we can all go together. It is on our road,
you know, so there 'll be no time lost."

"I was just going over there,--but if you--that is--" and handsome John
hesitated and blushed in a very suspicious manner.

"I tell you what I think is best, John. You know your father must be
told of it, and if you go to talking to him in secret, after having
started away, Bob-tail may suspect something. It would look more
natural if I did it. Don't you think so?" and Fred felt an inward
conviction that he had presented his point very well.

"Yes, I _do_ think so. So if you'll do that, I'll run on ahead and tell
your folks what's in the wind. I'll have them all ready by the time you
come. Don't lose any time, though," and then the two young men parted.

Fred was greeted at the door by Wesley Stevens, and bade enter, but he
made an excuse and drew the old man outside. In a few words he revealed
his discovery, adding:

"Now I will get to talking with Bob-tail, and then when I cough, do you
take the fellow from behind. Don't be particular what you hit him with,
just so you don't let him make much noise."

"Very well--I'll do my part," and then Stevens led the way into the
house, where a rude lamp had been lighted by the blushing Jennie as
soon as she heard the voice of the young borderer.

The greeting was cordial, but still somewhat constrained between the
young couple, for the old folks were looking on, and they had not yet
progressed so far along love's path as to be unreserved. It was a
secret--so they imagined--known only to each other.

Fred bent an inquiring look upon the dusky figure crouching near the
corner of the fireplace, where yet glowed a small fire; the remnant of
that necessary to prepare the evening meal. It was indeed "Bob-tailed
Horse," who had consented to play such a vile part.

And he seemed preëminently fitted for such a duty, too. Low,
squat-built, he was clothed in a dirty, greasy and tattered pair of
trowsers and a calico shirt, with bare feet and head. His face was
swollen and bloated with strong drink: his eyes bleared and bloodshot,
from the same cause. On the whole, a more disgusting specimen of the
"noble Lo!" could scarcely be found, even among his own people; and
that is saying a good deal.

"How?" exclaimed Fred, as he stood before the savage, outstretching a
hand.

The greeting was returned, and Bob-tail arose to clasp the hand. Then
Fred, as if accidentally, worked around until he was between the Indian
and his late position.

"Has 'Bob-tailed Horse' saw _Petit Corbeau_ lately?" asked Wilson.

"No--long time--so many suns," and he raised both hands. "Little Crow
call Injun drunk fool," and a venomous glitter filled the bleared eyes
of the sot.

"You don't tell me so? Why _he_ must have been drunk to have said that.
_You_ don't like fire-water, do you?"

"No--no like--_heap_ bad! Ugh!" brazenly lied the rascal.

"Does my brother know where One Eye is?" suddenly asked Fred.

Bob-tail looked steadily at the young settler for a moment, and then
slowly shook his head. Stevens drew nearer, whittling upon a heavy,
half-bent ox bow of hickory.

"Let Bob-tailed Horse listen. I have a little story to tell him,"
slowly returned Fred, as his gaze met that of the Indian.

"A little bird told me that the Siouxs were getting mad at their white
brothers. That Bob-tailed Horse was one of them. That he had sworn he
would take the scalp of a white man before another sun. Is this story
true?"

The savage shifted his gaze and glanced swiftly around the room.
Stevens still whittled on, idly whistling; the women sat gazing upon
the--to them--incomprehensible scene, with strange emotion. Fred
deliberately resumed:

"This bird also told me that Bob-tailed Horse would go to the cabin of
a pale-face and ask for lodging and food, pretending he was weary and
sick, so that he might open the door to One Eye and Dusky Dick, and let
them enter to kill the whites without danger to themselves. Did the
little bird tell me true?"

The Indian stood motionless as if carved from stone, save that one hand
slowly glided up toward his belt, where hung a knife and hatchet. Then
Wilson coughed.

Stevens sprung forward with uplifted ox-bow, and ere the fated red-skin
could stir a step, the heavy club descended upon his head with crushing
force. He tottered feebly, and then fell forward into Fred's arms, who
allowed the senseless form to fall to the floor.

Both women uttered a little cry of wondering alarm at this sudden and
unexpected move, but then a gesture from Stevens checked all further
outcry.

"Hush!" he cried, sternly; "don't make any noise, for your lives! Shut
the door, Jennie, quick. There may be others of the devils prowling
around. Fred's story was a true one. This carrion was a spy, who
intended giving us up to his friends to-night."

Fred stooped over the stricken Indian, and carefully examined the
wound. He found that, though senseless, the rascal still lived; his
skull had not been fractured, though the blow seemed enough to have
killed an ox.

"What shall we do with him, Stevens?" he asked, doubtfully.

"_Dead men tell no tales!_" sternly responded the old settler, a deadly
glitter in his black eyes.

"No--no, do not kill him, husband!" cried the wife, springing forward,
as he raised aloft the blood-stained ox-bow.

"It is him or us, Mary," but the uplifted arm slowly sunk. "He would
have killed us all, after eating our food!"

"Tie him and put him down the pit," suggested Jennie.

"It will do, Stevens," said Wilson. "They will find we suspect their
plans, anyhow, when they find we are gone. It would only make them
hotter after us, if we killed him."

"You may be right, Fred, but the dog is not fit to live. However, have
it your own way."

A strong cord was quickly produced, and with it the rascal was bound
hand and foot. Then a gag was forced between his jaws; after which a
trap-door was lifted and the Indian cast rudely down into a pit, where
were stored a few vegetables.

"Now what next?"

"You had better pack up such things as you must have, and such as we
can carry; come with me to our house. John has told them all by this
time, and they will be ready for a move. I don't think we will be safe
out here as long as those two devils are at large, with their gang."

"But we must take the horses."

"No--I think best not. The rascals are somewhere between here and our
house, and they would be sure to hear the sound of hoof-strokes, while
on foot we can pass them without being noticed. If we think best, we
can then take horses from our house. I don't think it would be safe
now."

After some little demurring on the part of Stevens, who did not relish
leaving his valuable stock, this plan was adopted. And then the party
hastened to secure such articles as could not well be abandoned.

In a very few minutes, the little party of four were laden with food
and weapons, and then emerging from the cabin, they set out upon their
perilous journey.




CHAPTER III.

DUSKY DICK'S FIRST BLOW.


John Stevens felt not a little concern as he strode along the
grass-grown trail that Fred Wilson had so lately traversed. The
discovery made by the latter was truly a momentous one, and if true,
the danger impending was one that would require all their skill and
courage to avert.

He thought of the gentle Annie being exposed to all the horrors of an
Indian attack, and wild visions of daring deeds and heroic struggles in
her behalf flashed across his mind. He felt that he could accomplish
all these, for _her_ sake.

And, in good truth, these fancies possessed his mind so greatly that
he forgot a greater portion of necessary prudence, striding along as
if in the utmost security, as though fully assured that there was not
an enemy within a hundred miles of his present location. But he was
speedily awakened from his abstraction.

A dark form suddenly sprung out before him, with leveled rifle-muzzle
threatening him. As his eyes fell upon the intruder, John fancied he
recognized the figure.

"Is that you, Dusky Dick?" he called out, halting and half-raising his
rifle.

"Keep your gun down--don't offer to shoot, or I'll plug ye! Yes, it's
me. But who the devil are _you_?" returned the man.

"Stevens--John Stevens, you know," laughed the young settler. "Why,
who'd you take me for?"

"Fer a Injun. They're 'round at thar tricks, I b'lieve. But whar are
you goin'?"

"Over to Wilson's--why?"

"Oh, nothin'--I didn't know. Folks all well at home?"

"Yes, all well; that is, all of our own. But there is a lame Indian
there, who hurt himself somehow, while out hunting, I believe. You know
him--Bob-tailed Horse?" added John, the better to allay any suspicions
the other might have entertained.

"Yes; a drunken dog. Mind out or he'll sarve you some dirty trick, yet.
Wal, if you're goin' to Wilson's, I won't hinder you no more. Jest give
them my respects, will you?" and Dusky Dick stepped to one side of the
path.

But, as he did so, John noted an evil glitter in his eyes as the
moonlight fell upon the renegade's countenance, through a rift in the
tree-tops. Stevens realized that Dusky Dick meant mischief.

"All right--I'll tell 'em," and the young settler strode lightly past
the man.

He saw the heavy rifle of the desperado raise and sweep through the
air, wielded by strong arms, evidently aimed at his head. But Stevens
ducked adroitly, and the weapon hissed harmlessly above his head, the
force of the unresisted blow swinging Dusky Dick around almost against
him.

With an angry cry, Stevens whirled his rifle around, its iron barrel
alighting full upon the traitor's head, felling him to the ground like
a dead man. But still a little cry broke from his lips.

Instantly all around was confusion, and the young settler shuddered
involuntarily at the terrible commotion he had aroused. Wild yells
filled the air until it sounded as though scores of devils had broken
loose upon earth, all thirsting for human blood.

Stevens knew his danger, and realized the full extent of his
peril--that he had fallen into an ambush of red-skins of whom Dusky
Dick was either a member, or else a chief. And he knew too that he
would be put to his best, if he escaped the threatened capture.

He had not alone to think of himself, either. The fate of more than one
probably depended upon the speedy accomplishment of his errand. He must
warn the Wilson family of their danger.

Uttering a low cry, John crouched down, and, summoning all his powers,
sprung with headlong force along the path, that he could see now
contained one or more of his enemies. But it was the only road for him
now. He knew that he would not stand the faintest chance of success,
in a run at night through the forest, with the well-trained and
fleet-footed Indians for competitors.

He leaped forcibly against the foremost Indian, hurling him breathless
to the ground, without receiving any particular harm himself. But
there another confronted him, with uplifted hatchet gleaming in the
moonlight, only a few feet distant.

John lowered his rifle and sprung forward, at the same time thrusting
out forcibly with his weapon. The rifle-muzzle took the red-skin full
in the pit of his stomach, doubling him up like a jack-knife, and
causing him to emit a fearful grunt; but at the same time he clutched
the rifle-barrel and held it with a firm grip. This, added to the
impetus of his rush, caused Stevens to stumble headlong, and ere he
could recover himself, several red-skins were upon him.

Literally so in this case, and the young settler was borne struggling
to the ground, almost smothered by the weight of the yelling red-skins.
And then their weapons flashed out and were uplifted to drink his
heart's blood.

It seemed as if the young man's fate was irretrievably sealed, and his
eyes closed as a faint prayer rose to his lips. But his time was not
yet.

Dusky Dick recovered his feet and sprung forward, his head dizzy and
confused by the sound blow he had received. But he knew enough to see
the peril of the young settler, and--for a purpose of his own--resolved
to avert it, for the present.

"Hold! don't strike!" he commanded, in the Sioux dialect. "You must not
kill him yet."

It is not likely that his words would have had the desired effect had
he not beaten the weapons aside with his rifle-barrel, and fairly
hurled one or two of the savages aside.

It was, perhaps, fortunate that John had not shed any blood, although
he had given some severe blows, for then, not even the influence of
Dusky Dick, great as that undoubtedly was, could have saved Stevens
from immolation. Even as it was, two of the red-skins--those who had
received John's compliments--were clamorous for his death.

But Dusky Dick was firm, and fiercely declared that the man who lifted
a hand against Stevens, unless by his express orders, should die
the death of a dog. This threat, when uttered by one possessing the
renegade's resolution, sufficed; and then by his orders, the young
settler was firmly bound.

Dusky Dick drew aside with several of the principal braves, and
consulted earnestly for a few moments; then he returned, and Stevens
was lifted erect. Two savages held him firmly, while another loosened
the bonds that confined his feet, so that he could walk, but not run.

"What do you intend doing, Dusky Dick?" he demanded, in a tone as calm
as he could make it, while such angry passions struggled within his
breast; "what do you mean by this outrage?"

"I told you the Injuns was on the war-path. Now you know it, don't ye?"
chuckled the renegade, triumphantly.

"What're you going to do with _me_?" persisted John.

"Keep you prisoner fer awhile; then burn you, maybe. You must ask Sloan
Young. You are _his_ game."

John saw the uselessness of further speech, and remained silent. He
realized that he was in a truly perilous situation, and though he felt
some natural uneasiness for himself, by far the greater share of his
anxiety was for the peril that threatened Annie.

If Dusky Dick would act thus toward him, might he not do the same with
others? Stevens shuddered convulsively as he realized the peril that
threatened the family of his loved one, who were, as he believed,
totally unsuspicious of the outbreak.

And then his fears were confirmed by the direction taken by his
captors, they heading directly toward the point where the Wilson cabin
was located. As if to put the matter entirely beyond doubt, Dusky
Dick, after a few instructions to the leading red-skin, fell back to
a position just in front of Stevens--the entire party proceeding in
Indian file, as the narrow trail would not admit two abreast--and
tauntingly uttered:

"As you said you was goin' on to Wilson's, I thought I'd give you a
escort, like. Don't you feel highly honored? You hed ought, anyhow,"
and he chuckled grimly.

"You are not--" faltered John, his blood chilling at the significant
tone of the renegade.

"_Ain't_ I? but I _am_, too. Thought you'd be lonely, a captyve by
yourself, so we've concluded to give you comp'ny. But don't count
on _too_ much. Annie's fer _me_. You must be 'tented with the men
critters, onless you take the old gal."

John uttered a hoarse growl of anger, and would have sprung upon his
tormentor, bound though his hands were, had not the guard behind him
divined his intentions and drew him forcibly back. This showed Stevens
the folly of allowing his passions to get the better of him, and so he
kept silence, while Dusky Dick malignantly resumed:

"Yas, Annie's _mine_. That's settled, for good. She'll make a
nice squaw--don't you think so? Anyhow, I'm goin' to resk it. But
t'others--well, they'll prob'ly git jest the same as _you_ will--'ither
knocked on the head decently, or else used fer a bonfire, jest to 'mind
the reds o' old times, when roasted white men warn't an uncommon dish.

"But you don't talk. Deaf, ain't ye? Or be you thinkin' o' the folks at
home? Need it, _they_ do. You said Bob-tailed Horse was there, didn't
you? Well, he was _sent_ there; and, what's more, he was sent thar by
Sloan Young, and he ain't hurt no more'n _you_ be, not a bit! He was
sent thar to open the door at the night time, so 't the reds could walk
in quietly. It's nearly time fer the blow, too, as your folks go to bed
airly. I wonder how they'll feel by mornin'?" and Dusky Dick laughed
ferociously.

Stevens shuddered, but did not reply. He knew that Bob-tailed Horse
would scarcely admit his red brethren, but then there was other danger.
He knew that Fred would try and persuade the family to hasten over to
his house, and he--John--had evidence that the trail was thickly beset
by dangers.

Besides the band that held him a captive, Stevens had heard enough to
know that Sloan Young was also lying near at hand, only awaiting the
proper time to spring his trap upon the "people of the great rock."
Might not Fred also stumble upon one of these parties?

Dusky Dick was not a little provoked at the ill-success of his taunting
boasts, but soon desisted, and once more made his way to the front, as
the party were now rapidly nearing the cabin of Edward Wilson. Their
caution increased, and the party glided along the shadowy path, like
some grim forest hunter.

John was not idle, however. He resolved to escape, if it lay in human
power, as he felt that to remain captive was equivalent to death, more
or less speedy; and he might yet be able to accomplish something.
If too late to save the Wilson family, he might be of use to his own
people.

He worked assiduously upon the bonds that confined his hands. They were
of tanned buckskin, and defied his utmost efforts to break them. The
endeavor only resulted in abrading the skin of his wrists.

The knots appeared to be tied securely, and would neither slip nor come
untied. It seemed as though his hopes were doomed to be frustrated by
this one fact. And yet he did not give way to despair or cease his
efforts, only keeping them concealed--as he was enabled to do by the
darkness beneath the trees--from the red-skins before and behind him.

Now the little party stood upon the verge of the clearing surrounding
the cabin of Edward Wilson, and peered curiously out upon it. An Indian
grasped John firmly by the neck, and rested one hand upon his lips,
evidently resolved that he should give no alarm.

All was quiet around the dwelling. There was no light within the
building, and it seemed as though the inmates had retired to rest, with
their usual feeling of security. Dusky Dick uttered a fiendish laugh.

"You see," he muttered in John's ear, "your friends don't expect
visitors to-night. They will be agreeably surprised--I guess
_not_--when we wake them up. But, still, it _may_ be a trap, and _you_
must guard us from it. Now I am goin' to make you walk jest afore me,
and, mind you, I have a long knife--long enough, anyhow, to reach your
_heart_--ready for use at the slightest sound from your lips. And _I
will use it_, too, if you give a single word or sign to alarm them."

In a few words Dusky Dick made known his plans to his followers, and
they expressed approval of it. John was brought to the front and Dusky
Dick crouched behind him. Then the others strung out in a row, so that
any shot from the house would miss them all, unless first striking the
young settler.

"Now, step out, young feller," muttered Dusky Dick, pricking Stevens
slightly with the point of his bared knife, "and remember that if you
rouse them up, their first shot must take _you_. Pleasant, ain't it?"
and he again gave vent to a fiendish laugh.

John dared not remonstrate, and obeyed the impulse given him by the
renegade, slowly advancing toward the log-cabin. Nearly two hundred
yards of clearing had to be traversed, and as may be imagined, it was a
trying ordeal for the young man's nerves, who knew not at what moment a
shot from his friends might sound his death-knell.

But in this he was agreeably disappointed, for the side of the cabin
was gained in safety. Not a sound broke the stillness that filled the
clearing, save the usual hum and chirping of the summer insects. A
silence as of death seemed upon every thing.

Dusky Dick advanced to the door and gently rapped with his knuckles. No
answer; only the echo of the knock replied. Again and again he repeated
it, with the same result.

A glad hope sprung up in the heart of the young settler. He believed
that the family had taken alarm and sought safety in flight.

This same idea struck Dusky Dick, and he thumped loudly upon the door.
Then with a wild, angry cry he rushed forcibly against it. Still no
answering sound broke the silence.

"The birds have flown!" uttered a savage, in a tone of disgust.

"Break down the door and let's see," cried Dusky Dick, with a bitter
oath.

A simultaneous rush of several sturdy forms, broke down the fastenings
of the door, and then Dusky Dick rushed into the house. He could hear
no signs of its being occupied, and then hastily struck a light. As the
glare filled the room, an angry roar broke from his lips.

The floor was strewn with various articles, whose disorder told of
great haste; that told the renegade his anticipated victims had indeed
taken the alarm and had fled from the impending peril. Now he bitterly
cursed his folly in leaving the building unguarded, after his vain
attempt at compromise.

"Git torches and hunt fer sign," he cried, as he stirred up the embers
that still glowed in the huge fireplace. "They can't have gone far in
this little time. Quick! we will find them yet!"

In a few moments a number of the Indians had secured torches, and were
searching the ground without for some trace to tell them the direction
taken by the fugitives. Meanwhile Dusky Dick had hastily searched
through the building, and confirmed this belief. They were indeed gone.




CHAPTER IV.

A TERRIBLE SURPRISE.


Tobe Castor sat down to the table and without ceremony began what he
would have termed a "square meal", eating as though his whimsical
assertion was true--that he had not eaten a bite for two weeks.
Evidently he was not a man to be disturbed by trifles, and who threw
his entire energies into one thing at a time.

Edward Wilson conversed earnestly with his wife and daughter, telling
the tidings imparted by their friend, the old hunter. He asked their
advice, for, like a sensible man, he did not think it derogatory to his
manhood, to consult one of the "weaker sex."

"What does Tobe say?" asked Mrs. Wilson.

"_He_ says thet you hed better jest git up an' git, while you kin,"
replied that worthy, as emphatically as the crowded state of his mouth
would admit. "They've got a dead open an' shet on ye, 's long's you
stay hyar. Dusky Dick wouldn't 'a' shot off his mouth thet a-way,
unless he had some one nigh to back him up. An' I _know_ the pesky imps
hez riz, down furder; an' it stands to reason that it'll spread up this
a-way, whar thar's a few skelps to be got, 'thout much resk. So _I_
say--_mosey!_"

"But where--which way? If, as you say, the Indians have broken out
below us, they must be between here and the settlements--at least such
as are strong enough to offer any hope of safety."

"Jest so, Ed; but see. The longer you wait the wusser it'll be.
An' it'll keep a-spreadin', natur'ly, up this a-way. Ef you start
now, you stand a chaince o' gittin' through. Ef you wait ontil
to-morrer--providin' Dusky Dick don't put in _his_ oar, afore--it'll be
wuss, a heap. Dog-on it! You _must_ start to-night!" earnestly added
Castor.

"But Fred--he is not here, and we can't leave him."

"No more shall you. My plan's this. Say we gits out o' here, an'
a'terwards Dusky Dick gives the cabin a call, an' finds us gone. Won't
he natur'ly s'pose you've struck out fer the settlements? An' won't
he look fer us in thet direction? In _course_ he will. So much fer so
much, then.

"We'll take the hosses an' start in thet d'rection fust. Fer it's
more'n likely they'll hunt fer our trail by torchlight, ontil they
set the p'int we head torst. Then they'll set off to run us down. So
we must go fur enough on critter-back to fool 'em, _thet_ way. Then
we'll turn 'round an' strike back in a crooked route, torst the Stevens
shanty, find Fred, tell our yarn, an' take the hull caboodle with us.

"We kin take a turn ag'in, an' then by hard ridin', make up fer lost
time. Ef we're ahead o' those imps by day, then we're all right fer
_them_. We must take the chances 'bout t'others. But I think we kin
work it. Thar--thet's my plan; what d' you think o' it, anyhow?"
demanded Castor, arising from the table.

The party were silent. They could see no other way, and yet this one
seemed full of danger. But indeed, if the rising of the Indians in
insurrection was a fact, which way could they turn without incurring
danger?

So this plan was finally acquiesced to, and the work of preparation
for flight commenced. Castor and Wilson set about saddling the horses,
while the women packed food and extra clothing, with such little
articles of value that they could not bring themselves to abandon, in
small and compact bundles.

They worked as if for dear life, and but a few minutes were consumed
ere all was pronounced ready for a start. Castor had taken a hurried
scout along the route they proposed to follow, and discovered nothing
suspicious.

There were only four horses, but Tobe scornfully declared that he would
none of them; that he never yet met the four-footed animal that he
could not wear out, on foot. But he advised them to take the extra one
along for Fred's use.

Then after a few words of caution, he led the way from the clearing,
and they entered the gloomy forest, leaving the home that had sheltered
them for two years, with sensations of choking regret. It seemed like
parting with some near and dear friend.

The trail was narrow and winding, and frequently the riders were forced
to stoop low down in their saddles, to avoid the pendent boughs, but to
offset this, they had the advantage of knowing the route thoroughly,
from so often traversing it. Tobe Castor led the way with long,
swinging strides, that forced the horses to their best walking, to
avoid being distanced.

There was urgent need of haste, as they understood matters to be, for
Fred might return to the deserted house, before they would have time to
gain Stevens', if any delay occurred. And unsuspecting the threatening
peril--as they believed--he might run into an ambush and be either
killed or captured by the red-skins.

"We've gone fur a plenty," said Tobe, when nearly a half-mile had been
traversed. "We must strike fer the other shanty now, or we mought miss
Fred. Take keer fer your heads, now, as thar hain't any trail the way
we must go."

"Ain't you afraid of losing the way, Tobe? It's so dark," muttered
Wilson.

"Nary time I ain't. Lose nothin'! Me? _Git_ out! Wasn't I _raised_ in
the woods? Couldn't I smell my way, even ef I was blinded? In _course_
I kin. Don't be skeered 'bout thet, Ned. I'll take you as straight thar
as a drunken Injun's trail--fer you know we've got to go mighty crooked
through the dark, on this bresh. Now keep cluss together and don't make
no n'ise. Don't holler out, even ef the limbs saws your heads off.
'Tain't nothin'--a'ter you git used to it."

The guide hurried abruptly to his left, and strode rapidly along,
holding onto the bridle of the horse ridden by Mrs. Wilson. After her
came Annie, with Wilson bringing up the rear, leading the spare horse.

Owing to the darkness, considerable noise was unavoidably made, but
as they soon gained a point at a fair distance from the trail Castor
believed there was but little danger of being overheard. As a matter
of course, he reasoned that such Indians--and he fell fully assured
that there were more or less in the neighborhood, from the bold threats
of Dusky Dick--as were lurking around, would naturally keep near the
main trail, as the two families were all living within some miles of
that point.

Thus he pressed on through the woods at a good pace, for now time was
precious. A long road lay before them, and unless a certain distance
could be gained before day-dawn, he believed their chances of ultimate
escape would be faint indeed.

The riders found that his warning was well founded, for more than once
they were almost brushed from their saddles, by the low-hanging boughs,
and only by lying almost flat along their horses' necks, could they
proceed with any degree of safety. Then their animals were mainly left
to their own guidance, but naturally followed close in the footsteps of
the one led by Castor.

For several miles the fugitives proceeded in this manner, which was
inexpressibly wearisome, and more than once had Wilson urged Castor
to seek the trail leading direct to the cabin of Wesley Stevens. But
the guide refused, as it would be incurring foolish risk. The unbroken
woods were far safer in his estimation.

But their journey was not to be completed without interruption, and one
soon came that threatened serious consequences. It occurred in this
manner.

As they were proceeding at a fair gait, a bright flash spouted forth
from one side of the little party, at only a few yards' distance, and
mingled with sharp report, came the spiteful _hum_ of a ragged bullet
as it hurtled close to the head of Mrs. Wilson. Then a loud, fierce
yell broke upon their hearing.

The horses were badly frightened by these sudden and unexpected sounds,
and broke loose from all control, wildly plunging on through the woods.
And the voice of Castor was heard, crying:

"Keep together, an' let the animiles went! Foller me!"

Fleet-footed as a deer, he sprung forward and clutched the bridle-rein
that had been wrenched from his grasp; then ran beside the horse, now
leading the way. Occasionally he would raise his voice--knowing that,
if they were indeed followed, this could not add to their peril, as the
loud crashing made by the affrighted animals could be heard further
than his cries--and it was essential that none of the party should
become separated from the others.

For nearly a mile this headlong race was maintained, and then Castor
suddenly checked the horse he was guiding. He could hear nothing of any
pursuer, and had resolved that now, if ever, was the time to throw any
such off the scent.

"Is it all right, Ed?" he anxiously cried, approaching Wilson.

"Yes--I believe so. Is Mary hurt?"

"No--I am safe. But Annie--where is she?" replied Mrs. Wilson,
breathlessly.

"Here--I caught her horse as it ran past. Are you hurt, Annie?"

There came no answer, and Wilson repeated the inquiry, in wondering
alarm. Tobe Castor sprung forward with a cry, and stood beside the
horse.

It was dark and gloomy there, in the forest depths, where the
thickly-crested tree-tops effectually prevented the moon's rays from
falling on the earth, and nothing could be seen. The sense of feeling
must be depended upon, merely.

Castor reached out and touched the snorting horse. It trembled like a
leaf. He called aloud on Annie's name, but she did not answer.

His hands fell upon the saddle. _It was empty--Annie was gone!_

The old scout uttered a low cry and staggered back. The blow was a
fearful one, and he felt it as though the lost one had been his own
child.

"My God! Castor, what is it?" gasped Wilson, alarmed at the tone of the
hunter, and bending forward in the saddle as though he would pierce the
dense obscurity with his distended eyeballs.

"The gal is gone!"

Mrs. Wilson uttered a low, gasping groan, and reeled in her seat. Tobe
sprung forward and caught her sinking form lowering her gently to
the ground. In a moment Wilson was beside her, half-distracted by the
terrible events that pressed so closely upon them.

"Give her a sup o' this," gloomily said Castor, producing a small flask
of whisky. "'Tain't no time fer faintin' _now_. We've got our hands
full 'thout _thet_."

"What must we--what _can_ we do?" cried the father, chokingly, as he
strove to revive the fainting woman.

"_Work_--work like blazes. No use goin' furder ontil we find thet gal;
ef it kin be did. _Ef_--it _must_ be did! Thunder! I'll find her ef I
hev to take an' rip the hull teetotal kentry through my old hat! See 'f
I don't, now," and Castor spoke with strong emphasis.

Mrs. Wilson now gave signs of returning consciousness. Strong-nerved,
she was not one to yield long to any misfortune, however heavy and
bitter it might be.

"Now, Ed," added Tobe, thoughtfully, "this is what we must do. You may
stay here with her an' the hosses, 'ca'se we may need them afore long.
I'll go back 'long the trail as we kem by, an' look fer the gal. She
must 'a' bin knocked off by some pesky limb, an' won't hev gone fur.
I'll find her, never fear."

"But the Indians--those who fired at us? They may have found her,"
faltered Wilson.

"'Tain't likely, fer I didn't hear thar yell as they'd 'a' give ef they
hed. I don't think they'd notice her tumble a-tall. An' then ag'in,
I don't think thar was more'n one or two, or they'd 'a' follered us
closter. Most likely jest a stray, prowlin' critter, who run jest as
soon's he shot at us."

"I hope so--but why can't we all go?"

"Don't be a fool, now, Ed, _don't_. S'posin' thar _was_ a wheen o' reds
nigh, wouldn't we look nice a-blunderin' right spang into 'em? They'd
hear us a-comin', an' then lay fer us. Then whar'd we be? No, _sir_.
Whatever's did I must do, alone, by myself. You must stay here to keep
_her_ comp'ny--onless, indeed, you keep right on to the shanty fer
Fred. Which is it?"

"No, we must not leave Annie--Fred is a man, and better able to take
care of himself. We will wait here."

"All right, then. But fust, wait ontil I find a better place fer ye to
lay low in than this," and Castor started away from the spot.

"Is Annie gone, Edward?" murmured Mrs. Wilson feebly.

"Yes--but Tobe says he can find her. She is safe, I believe, but was
brushed off the horse's back. He will find her never fear."

"Here ye be, folks," muttered the old hunter, as he returned. "Kin you
walk a leetle, Mary?"

"Yes, I can; I think."

"Holp her, Ed, while I take the animiles. Foller me."

In a few moments the refuge was gained; a sort of natural bower,
where, even by the light of day, a casual observer would scarcely have
noticed their presence, and in the darkness, unless some noise should
betray them, an entire tribe of red-skins might have passed within
arm's-length of the covert, without suspecting their presence.

"You stay here an' keep still. Don't move or speak 'bove a cat's
whisper, ontil I come back. I'll give the call o' the night-hawk
twicet. You know it, Ed?"

"Yes, but be--"

Tobe did not wait to hear the conclusion of this sentence, but turned
and glided away. His mind was far from being at ease, although he had
endeavored to cheer up the fugitives with a confidence he was far from
possessing, as he knew that it was no time for despondency.

He knew that Annie had most likely been knocked from the saddle by a
limb, and that she might have received such injury as prevented her
crying out. And then again she might have suddenly been pounced upon by
the one who had fired the treacherous shot, and taken prisoner before
she could give the alarm.

If hurt, the chances were against his finding her, in the darkness, and
to await the light of day would be perilous in the extreme, now that
the vicinity of deadly enemies was put beyond a doubt. Still he did not
entirely despair; it was not his nature to do so, while breath remained.

Tobe glided along cautiously, seeming to avoid collision with the
thickly-growing tree-trunks and bushes by instinct, keeping as near
as he could tell, in the trace of their wild flight. His hearing was
keenly alert, and he looked for some signs or sounds to tell him
whether the hidden horseman had followed them or not.

But he reached a point near where the alarm had been given the horses,
without seeing or hearing aught to confirm either his suspicions or
hopes. Then he paused to listen more intently.

His lips compressed tightly and one hand sought the haft of his ready
knife, as he heard the sound of faint footfalls, apparently approaching
him. Still he did not speak or move, not knowing whether friend or foe
advanced.

The steps sounded more and more distinct, until Tobe felt assured that
the comer was not the girl he sought: the tread was too regular and
deliberate for that of a frightened wanderer. Then who could it be but
a foe?

A dark form appeared outlined against the less opaque atmosphere,
within a few feet of the crouching scout. With knife drawn, Castor
reached out, and finding a small twig, snapped it with a sharp noise.

A low guttural exclamation came from the figure, and it started back as
if in alarm. That satisfied Castor, who sprung forward with a low howl
of anger.

His arms closed around a brawny form, but a quick motion rendered
the knife-stroke futile, and then they fell to the ground together,
battling fiercely for the mastery. Their arms were twined around each
other, so that their knives were of little use.

It was now a struggle for life or death!




CHAPTER V.

THE BURNING CABIN.


A dim, shadowy, phantom-like chain flitting silently through the forest
depths. A living chain, composed of human beings--at least in outward
semblance--bent upon an errand of bloodshed and death.

They pause at the edge of a considerable clearing, and gaze out upon
it. A rude log-cabin stands here at the foot of a good-sized hill. In
the darkness, it seems as though there were two buildings, but one is a
huge square bowlder. A mass of rock that has puzzled many to tell where
it came from. It gives a name to the cabin and its owners, "the people
of the lodge by the great rock."

The cabin is the one where we met the Stevens family. The human chain
is led by One Eye--Sloan Young, the half-breed heretofore alluded to.
He and his comrades have come here to perform their part of the bloody
plan, to further which the Indian, Bob-tailed Horse, had been sent to
gain admittance into the cabin.

"It is nearly time," muttered One Eye, in the Sioux dialect.

"Yes, the pale-faces are asleep before now," added one of the Indians.

"We will not wait any longer. Come, let us go," and One Eye entered the
clearing and glided stealthily toward the cabin that stood silent and
gloomy in the shadow of the hill.

The half-breed paused when beside the rude structure and uttered
a call; one common to that place and time of year--the cry of the
night-hawk. Then he stepped forward and pressed gently against the door.

To his surprise it did not yield. He again uttered the signal, upon
which the traitor was to throw wide the door, but still without the
desired result.

"The fool has drank fire-water until his brain is asleep! He has
forgotten his duty," angrily hissed the half-breed.

"It is growing late and our weapons are hungry for white blood. Let us
break open the lodge. They can do nothing," muttered the Indian who had
spoken before, who was evidently of higher rank than the others who
stood silently behind him.

"We can do it. One rush will overpower them. But remember--the young
squaw must not be harmed. She is _mine_--for my squaw," earnestly added
Young.

"It is well. One Eye shall have her," and then the chief spoke a few
words to his followers, who drew together and made a heavy rush against
the door.

It flew open so suddenly that one-half their number fell in a sprawling
heap upon the floor, half-way across the room. Then with wild yells and
cries Young and the chief sprung over their forms, and glared around
for their anticipated victims.

But where were they? Why did not their cries of wild alarm and terror
break forth upon the air? Surely there had been noise enough made to
awaken them from the soundest slumber!

Raging furiously, Young rushed into the second room, but silence met
him there, as well. He could no longer doubt the truth.

"A light--quick!" he snarled fiercely, in his rage speaking in English.
"They cain't all hev gone. Cusses on that drunken fool!"

A light was speedily struck, and applied to a heap of clothing that lay
upon the floor. As the blaze shot up, the interior of the cabin was
rendered visible. Here, as at Wilson's, the disordered furniture and
various articles strewn about the floor, told of a hasty and recent
flight.

The half-breed quickly ran through the rooms, and found nothing there
to wreak his fury upon. The loft, likewise, was empty. His anger and
disappointment was fearful.

Led by him the Indians procured lights and ran outside to find, if
possible, some trace of the fugitives. While some searched for a trail,
others sought among the brush and hollows along the hillside, in the
faint hope that the fugitives had sought shelter there.

A faint ruddy glow now appeared upon the sky in the south-east,
growing momentarily more vivid and clear. One of the Indians pointed it
out to Sloan Young, who replied with a diabolical grin:

"It is the work of Dusky Dick. He has had better fortune than we."

Then as if this sight had reminded him of it, the renegade ran to the
building and stirred up the dying fire, piling on clothes, bed-ticks,
furniture and every thing movable, that would burn. Then he retreated
once more, uttering a fiendish yell of delight.

Soon the flames burst through the open doorway, roaring and crackling
as though in high glee at thus being turned loose to work its will.
A torch was applied to the straw-thatched stables, and then as the
affrighted stock ran lowing or neighing around their corrals, the dusky
demons shot them down, uttering wild yells of diabolical exultation.

But the half-breed and his chief glided around, striving to decipher
the meaning of the many tracks that covered the ground. They were
moving toward the forest, where their own party had not so defaced
the ground with their trampling to and fro, when an unexpected sound
startled them.

It was a cry, long and unearthly, seeming like, yet unlike a human
voice. But if indeed one, then it must proceed from some person either
in agonizing pain or mortal terror.

Again and again it came to their ears, with increasing distinctness,
and even more startling than at first. And the dusky crowd glanced at
each other in mute alarm.

They knew not what to make of it. Wherever they turned, from that point
the horrible shrieks seemed to issue. If they looked, it appeared to
come down from the skies.

The savages ceased their work of barbarous destruction and gathered
together. They felt alarm, that was rapidly increasing, at they knew
not what.

The chief was scarcely less impressed, but Sloan Young did not exhibit
the same symptoms. His face was eagerly turned toward the blazing
cabin, through whose roof the flames were now ascending. Then as
another yell broke upon his hearing, he said:

"It is from the lodge! The pale-faces have hidden beneath it, and are
being _roasted alive_!"

The terror of the savages quickly gave place to emotions of anger, at
thus being cheated out of the coveted scalps. The heat was now too
intense for them to accomplish any thing in the way of releasing the
sufferers.

Then they started back with cries of wondering dismay. A shrill shriek
of fearful torture rung out, and then a figure sprung from the fiery
furnace and darted toward them; its arms flung wildly aloft, its
garments dropping in charred fragments from its limbs.

Then with another long-drawn cry, it sunk to the ground, almost at the
feet of Sloan Young. The half-breed bent over it, but shrunk back at
the horrible stench of burning flesh that arose from the body. Still he
had recognized the unfortunate, burned and disfigured though it was.

"It is Bob-tailed Horse!" he exclaimed, turning to the chief.

And such was the case. He had been cast down the pit bound and gagged,
as detailed, but soon recovered his senses. There he lay until he heard
the angry voices of his confederates above him, and heard himself
blamed for the disappointment.

He strove to cry out, but the gag had been firmly applied and his limbs
were useless. In striving to free himself, he rolled over upon his face.

Then he heard the ominous crackling above him, and the pungent smoke
that soon came to his nostrils, told him of a new and fearful peril.
And yet he was helpless to avert it. His bonds would not give, nor
could he utter even a groan.

The heat increased until the sweat streamed from every pore. The air
became so close and hot that he nearly suffocated. At every breath it
was like inhaling molten lead.

His prison became lighter, and he knew that the floor was being burned
through. And still he struggled to burst his bonds; strove in vain.
The skin cracked and shriveled up beneath the intense heat, and his
tortures were excruciating.

The floor above him was one mass of coals. Then cinders fell upon his
bare neck, hot and glowing. He shook his head, but the coal adhered to
the hissing flesh.

Another and another fell, until his body was literally covered with the
blazing sparks. Either the cords had been weakened by fire, or else the
torturing coals had given Bob-tailed Horse a fictitious strength, for
with one mighty effort he burst them asunder, and snatching the gag
from his mouth, uttered a wild cry for help.

His hair caught fire and blazed furiously about his face. His flesh was
fairly hissing beneath the heat, and it seemed as though he was one
mass of fire. He screamed and yelled with frantic fury.

He sprung upward and caught at one of the glowing sleepers. It broke
beneath his weight, and he fell back, covered with the hotly-blazing
_debris_. Again he sprung to his feet and essayed to gain the level
floor; and again he fell back, screeching--dying.

More of the floor crumbled away, and then he sprung upon the edge of
the narrow pit. With yet another cry, he fell forward upon his face in
the glowing mass of coals.

He tottered to his feet and rushed blindly forward, sinking nearly
knee-deep in the burning embers. He ran against the still standing logs
and staggered back; his eyesight was gone.

But he did not fall, and sprung ahead once more. This time he emerged
from the doorway, and then with a gasping yell, he fell to the ground.

And yet, after all this torture, he still lived. Though he had
undergone enough to have killed a half-score of men, the spark of life
still flickered faintly in his breast.

He knew he was among friends, and cried out for water. More from his
gestures, than aught else, he was understood, and Young hastened to
supply his wants. Not from motives of pity, but because he hoped to
gain some valuable information from the dying wretch.

The spring was close by, and a hatful of cold water was brought the
scarred and mangled sufferer. He drank it down eagerly and begged
piteously for more.

"Tell me first," said One Eye, in the Sioux dialect, "where are the
pale-faces?"

"Gone--water--water!" gasped the wretch.

"_Where?_" sternly cried Young. "Tell me all or you shall perish for
want of a drop of water. Tell me and you shall have all you wish."

"Gone to--over _there_," was the husky reply.

"To Wilson's?" asked Young, in English.

"Yes--young brave tell 'um--they go--run 'way--"

One Eye sprung to his feet with a peculiar cry. He had learned all he
wished.

"Water--water!" gasped the sufferer, but his plea was unheeded.

He could be of no further service to them. He might die a dog's death,
as he had lived a dog's life. What cared they?

"Come--there is no time to lose. We must hasten or they will escape
us yet. Follow me, and their scalps shall hang at our girdles before
another sun!" yelled One Eye, as he dashed away from the burning cabin,
closely followed by the savages, leaving the dying wretch as he lay, to
gasp out his feeble remnant of life in fruitless appeals for water!




CHAPTER VI.

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.


As Dusky Dick turned from the loft, after his fruitless search, a loud,
shrill yell from one of his braves without, told him that the trail had
been found. He uttered a little cry of exultation and flung his blazing
brand upon the bed, as he dashed out of doors.

The trail-hunters had found where the beasts had been mounted, and then
from that point the tracks led in a straight line toward the forest.
There seemed but one solution of this. The settler had taken alarm at
the threats of Dusky Dick, and had resolved to journey to the lower
settlements. The renegade bitterly cursed his precipitancy, and his
folly in losing sight of his intended victims even for a moment, when
the game was entirely in his own hands.

"Look! the lodge is burning!" exclaimed a savage, to Dusky Dick.

The brand the latter had thoughtlessly flung upon the bed had done its
work. The flames were shooting up, leaping hither and thither, roaring
and crackling as if in fiendish glee.

"Let it burn. It will shelter no more of our enemies," and he turned
away with a grim smile.

John Stevens was standing near, under guard of two brawny braves,
who kept a vigilant watch over him. His blood was boiling within him
at this last act of wanton malignancy, but fortunately he controlled
his anger before it broke forth into words, that, while they could do
him no good, might be productive of harm, in the wrathful mood of his
captors.

Dusky Dick now renewed his instructions to the guards to keep careful
watch over the captive, and then set forward after such of his braves
as were tracing out the course of the fugitives by torchlight. The
hoof-tracks crossed the clearing, and entered the trail leading to the
lower settlements.

Thus far it was plain sailing, and Dusky Dick thought he divined the
plans of the fugitives. He believed they were pressing on at a hot pace
for the safer country below, and resolved to give them chase.

He could not proceed rapidly enough by torchlight trailing, and indeed,
knowing the lay of the country so well, he did not think there was any
further need of this aid. On foot he could proceed much more rapidly
than the fugitives upon horseback, through the tangled woods.

But it would be impossible to carry his prisoner along. There would be
too great a risk of losing him, and besides, he would only delay them.

So Dusky Dick turned to the two guards and bade them take Stevens and
hasten at once to the lodge by the great rock, where they were to
deliver him to Sloan Young, according to the bargain already made. Then
he and his braves dashed away at headlong speed along the trace.

Ever since his capture, John had been busy. He knew that unless he
could effect his escape that night, his chances for life were very
slim. He would die by torture, most probably, for Sloan Young was a
bitter, relentless enemy.

His hands had been bound behind him with strong deer-skin thongs.
Then another cord had been wound several times around his body, thus
pinioning his arms close to his sides. It seemed as though escape from
these bonds, unaided, was an impossibility.

John had thoroughly tested the strength of the thong securing his
wrists, and knew that he could not break it while his arms were so
confined that he could not exert his strength to any advantage. He saw
that he must first rid himself of the cords around his arms and body.

And to this end he had been working since before the cabin was reached.
While the search was being prosecuted, he had been backed up against
the building's side by his captors. Here he had caught one of the cords
upon a knot, and had succeeded in pulling it down over his hands; thus
the most difficult part of the task was accomplished.

The rest was comparatively easy. The one turn, thus loosened, gradually
divided its surplus with the others, until John could work his hands
slightly up and down. When the party entered the woods, along the horse
trail, only one cord bound his arms!

Then that slipped down, and during the consultation, John, with a
quick, dextrous twist, brought his bound hands up over his head, and
dropped them in front; the movement not being noticed in the gloom.
Cautiously raising his hands, Stevens applied his strong, sharp teeth
to the thongs, and though he had barely half a score moments to work
in, he improved this time so well that the thong parted at a quick pull
upon it.

His first impulse was to turn and flee for life, but that would be too
great a risk, and the young settler had sufficient good sense to await
a more favorable opportunity.

Then he was given to the two braves, to be conducted to the half-breed,
One Eye. Stevens felt a thrill of delight at this, for he felt that
his escape was all but assured. Surely, during the long three miles he
could effect an escape, now that only two were left to guard him.

But a danger threatened him, that he had not foreseen. He was being led
back to the blazing cabin, and once within the broad circle of light
cast around it, it was highly probable one of the red-skins would
notice that the cord was broken around his wrists.

However, that must be chanced, and as the young settler managed to
screen the broken ends, holding them under his hands, again crossed
behind his back, he believed they would pass muster. The clearing
was entered, a red-skin walking upon either side of him, clutching a
shoulder.

The building was now blazing furiously, and Stevens felt a choking
sensation as he gazed upon it. Many a happy hour had he spent beneath
that roof, with those who, for aught he knew to the contrary, might
even then be lying cold and still in the embrace of death.

He strove manfully to banish these ideas, but was not entirely
successful. There was a heavy weight at his heart, and a premonition of
coming evil rested upon his spirit.

As the clearing was crossed, the cabin being left directly behind the
trio, a low cry broke from John's lips. Before them, afar off, was a
ruddy glow, lighting up the skies high above the tree-tops. It needed
not a second glance to tell the young settler the meaning of this. The
position plainly revealed that. It was the conflagration built by One
Eye; the blazing of the second cabin.

The Indians urged John along rapidly. One walked before, the other
behind, within arm's length of their prisoner. Evidently they did not
intend throwing away a chance, but were resolved to convey him safely
to his destination.

They had not proceeded far from the Wilson cabin, when the foremost
Indian paused with a low hiss, and bent his ear toward the ground. To
the right and front he could distinguish the tramp of horses' hoofs.

"Perhaps 'tis One Eye, crossing with horses captured from the people of
the lodge by the great rock," muttered the savage, whose hand rested
upon John's shoulder.

"It may be. Let Tichenet wait here with the pale-face, while Asamee
goes to see," hastily muttered the other, arising and gliding away in
the forest, choosing a course so as to intercept the horsemen, whoever
they might be, leaving the other two where they stood.

John believed that the time had now come for him to make a bold stroke
for freedom, assured that no other so good a chance would be given
him. And so, while waiting for Asamee to gain a safe distance, he
entirely freed his hands.

Stealing a glance at his guard, Stevens saw that one hand rested upon a
knife-haft, while his head was bent in an attitude of acute attention.
His thoughts were mainly with his comrade, and the probable issue of
his venture.

Stevens tightly clenched his hand, and gently drew it back. Suddenly
there came a startling interruption. A clear, spiteful crack
echoed through the forest, slowly followed by a wild, shrill yell,
unmistakably that of an Indian, probably that of Asamee, as the
direction corresponded with the one taken by him.

Tichenet uttered a low cry, and, dropping his grasp from the prisoner's
shoulder, he started forward a pace, his nostrils dilating like those
of a hound upon a breast-high scent. The golden opportunity was
offered, and John was not a man to neglect it.

His wiry right arm shot out, the tightly-clenched fist alighting full
beneath the red-skin's unguarded ear, felling him to the ground like
a dog, the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. Stevens did
not trust to this, but sprung upon the senseless form, plucking the
half-drawn knife from the nerveless grasp, he drove it deep down into
the red-skin's broad breast.

Then John seized the fallen rifle, assuring himself it had received
no injury; after which he secured the ammunition and belt, placing in
it, when buckled around his waist, the knife and hatchet of his dead
foe. He could scarcely restrain a cry of exultation, as he felt himself
once more a free man, provided with means of offense or defense, as the
occasion might require.

There was no need to repeat the blow. It had been delivered by a true
and strong hand. The red-skin's heart was literally cloven in twain.

John paused and listened intently. He could hear no sounds save the
usual ones of a summer night in the forest; the hum of countless
insects, the chirp of the tree-toad, the sighing of the gentle breeze
amid the tree-tops.

He knew that his friends were somewhere in the forest; the two blazing
cabins told him that, but just where, he had no means of knowing. But
he believed the party fired at by Asamee--if indeed it was his rifle
they had heard--were none other than his relatives, under convoy of
Fred Wilson, who had taken horses and were hastening toward the cabin
he had so lately left.

But surely they must have noted the glare of the blazing building, and
it would tell them that foes were, or had lately been there. Then they
would naturally give it a wide berth, which would account for their
being off the main trail.

Still, John thought it strange he heard no further sounds. If they had
fired at Asamee, why did not that worthy return? His yell had come
_after_ the shot; neither was it a death-cry. That much Stevens felt
confident of.

"John Stevens, you're a fool!" he disgustedly muttered, apostrophizing
himself, after a brief hesitation. "If you want to find out, why don't
you go where you can, instead of standing here like a simpleton."

Acting upon this sensible advice, John turned and glided from the
blood-stained trace into the forest, as nearly as he could guess, in a
direct line toward the point from whence had proceeded the alarm. But
the delay had somewhat confused him, and he bore considerably to the
left.

He was forced to advance slowly, for fear of coming into unexpected
collision with Asamee, and some little time was consumed ere he gained
the vicinity--as he believed--of the spot. Then he remained silent,
listening intently for some sound to tell him how matters stood.

After what seemed an age--but in reality, only a few moments--he
fancied he could distinguish a faint rustling noise, at only a few
yards' distance; but if so, the person, whoever it might be, was going
from him, as the next moment he lost the sound entirely. John felt if
his weapons were in readiness for use, and then glided forward, as
noiselessly as possible, toward the point from whence had proceeded the
suspicious noise.

Again he heard the sound, and now could quite plainly distinguish the
fall of irregular footsteps, evidently made by a human being. Believing
they were those of Asamee, and burning to wreak a bitter revenge upon
him for the threats and abuse he had so plentifully bestowed upon him
when a captive, Stevens drew his knife and followed the footsteps,
displaying considerable skill for one so little versed in woodcraft as
he was, making scarcely more noise than the velvet-pawed panther when
stealing upon its prey.

In this manner John had proceeded for several hundred yards, then
growing warm in the chase, pressed on with more speed than caution,
eager to bring affairs to a termination. Suddenly the sound of
footsteps ceased, and he imitated the movement.

But it was quite evident that he had been heard, despite his
promptness, and that the fugitive had taken the alarm, for the sound
was almost immediately resumed, this time evidencing more speed and
less caution than before. Stevens sprung forward, determined to
overtake the fugitive at all hazards.

It was a difficult matter, this running through the tangled woods, but
above the noise made by himself, Stevens could hear that of the other,
showing that both had to encounter the same difficulties. Then came a
low, gasping cry--a heavy fall, and then John was upon the fugitive,
with knife uplifted to deal the fatal blow.

But the gleaming weapon descended harmlessly, and also a cry of wonder
broke from his lips as he touched the prostrate form. _He felt the
flowing drapery of a woman's dress!_

"Mercy--mercy!" gasped the latter, in a voice trembling with fear and
apprehension.

That voice! How well John knew it! No danger of his confounding it with
any other.

"Annie--you here!" he uttered, in a tone of wondering surprise.

"Mercy--have mercy!"

It was evident that the maiden did not recognize his voice. Her terror
construed it into that of a deadly foe, thirsting for her life.

"Annie--don't you know me? It is John--John Stevens," and he bent over
the prostrate and trembling form, winding his arms tenderly about her,
pressing his lips to her cold brow.

It was the first time he had ever ventured so far, but the strange
and exciting circumstances must be his excuse. And the course, too,
answered a good purpose, for the maiden recognized him then, and with a
low cry, flung her arms around his neck, sobbing hysterically.

The trying events, the sudden alarm, the heavy fall and shock, the
long chase and agony of feeling herself lying helplessly at the mercy
of a vindictive enemy, had proved too much for the usually strong,
self-reliant spirit of the girl. She had been a heroine once that
night; now she was only a weak and trembling woman.

"John--thank God!" murmured Annie, sobbing from excess of joy. "I
thought it was an Indian."

"No, it is me," he added; a rather needless assertion, but he was
hardly accountable for his words or actions then, as he clasped the
lovely form closely to his breast, and pressed more than one fervent
kiss upon her lips, now unresisting.

But then Annie started up with a little cry. The truth had flashed upon
her mind, and brought her back once more to the stern realities of this
life.

"I forgot--my father, mother--where are they?"

"Don't you know? Where did they leave you? And you have not told me how
it is I find you here alone, at night," added John, curiously.

"We were afraid of the Indians, and left home, intending to call
for your folks and then try to reach the lower settlements. But
something--somebody shot at us and frightened the horses. Mine ran
beneath a low limb, and I was brushed from his back. The fall must have
stunned me for a time, because I heard nothing more of them. Then as
I got up and walked away, trying to find where they went, I heard you
after me, and thought it was an Indian. The rest you know," hurriedly
explained the maiden.

"I'm afraid we're all in a bad fix, Annie. If you look, you can see the
light from your house now. Dusky Dick set it on fire. _Our_ home is on
fire, too. No--don't be frightened; the folks were not in it. Fred came
there and alarmed us, and I started on ahead to tell your folks the
news, but got captured by the Indians. Fred said he would bring on the
others to your house, when we all could go together."

"And father is on the way up there! He will get killed--I know it!"

"You said Tobe Castor was with them?"

"Yes; he came just before dark."

"Then he will save them from that. He is too old and cunning to walk
blindly into such a scrape. But _you_ I am troubled the most about now."

"Hark!" whispered Annie, as a startling sound broke the stillness of
the air.

It was a loud, hoarse shout, closely followed by a shrill yell; and
then the confused noise as of a mortal struggle between strong men.
John quickly divined the cause.

"It is your friends, returned to look for you. They have met the Indian
who was with the one I killed. Do you stay here, while I go forward and
help them."

"No, I will go along," and then the young couple glided rapidly toward
the spot from whence proceeded the confused sounds.

It was indeed as John had surmised. Tobe Castor had come into collision
with Asamee, and, well matched in point of strength and dexterity, they
were now rolling over the ground in a life and death grapple.

Tobe had made one blow, his knife sinking deep into the shoulder of the
savage, inflicting a painful flesh wound, but in nowise disabling him.
As he received the wound, Asamee gave a quick twist, that wrenched the
knife from Castor's hand, tearing it from the wound, and hurling it
several yards away.

However, he found his own hands full without attempting to draw a
weapon, and it bade fair to result in a test of relative strength
and endurance; their arms wound about each other, as they strove
desperately for the mastery. But such was not to be the case.

Stevens dashed up, and paused before the contestants, with ready knife.
He could not distinguish one from the other; and then, resolving to
chance it, he spoke out.

"Who is it--white or red?"

"Both, I reckon--I kin answer fer the white, anyhow," muttered Castor,
the words issuing by jerks. "Who're you?"

"John Stevens--let me help you," and the young man strove in vain to
gain a fair stroke at Asamee.

"Gi' me the knife, hyar!" and as he spoke, Castor wrenched one arm
loose, and then dashed his fist with crashing force full in the
red-skin's face, who fell back, confused and bewildered.

Then Castor seized the proffered weapon. One quick, deadly thrust, and
the contest was ended. Tobe coolly wrenched off the scalp, and then
arose, puffing and blowing like a human porpoise.

"Wolf! Tough dog _thet_, fer a red. E'ena'most squoze my outsides in;
durned ef he didn't! But how'd you come here? Hain't see'd nothin' o'
ary stray gal--"

"Uncle Tobe, where are father and mother?" said Annie, springing
forward, now assured that the strife was ended, by the conversation.

"Ge--thunder!" ejaculated Tobe, in amazement. "What next? The gal--ef
'tain't, then I'm a liar!" and the old scout clasped Annie to his
breast, in a genuine "bear's hug," at the same time carrying the simile
further, by an uncouth shuffle, quite as graceful as some of bruin's
most finished antics.

"Don't--you'll smother her!" cried John; and, lover-like, there was a
tinge of uneasiness in his tones, as he beheld another perform the same
thing he had, only a few minutes before; but _then_ it was all right.

"Nary time--will it honey? Gals ain't easy smothered _thet_ a-way. B'ar
a good deal o' huggin', them critters will. Kinder comes nat'ral to
'em, I guess. Lord bless ye, honey! I've a good mind to scold ye, right
peert, now, fer your skeerin' us all so pesky bad!" but instead, Tobe
smacked her lips right heartily.

"There, there, uncle Tobe!" and Annie twisted from his grasp. "You
ought to be ashamed of yourself--at such a time, too. But where are
they?"

"The old folks? Out yonder. They hid while I kem back to hunt you up,
a'ter you jumped off to hunt _this_ feller up. Did, didn't you? Then
how did you chance to find him?"

"This is hardly the time for joking, Castor," rather crustily
interjected John.

"Right, you be. Thar--I'm sober as a judge. But findin' thet honey-bird
thar, jest sorter sot me crazy. Did, fer a fact! Jest sot me right on
eend, like. Made me feel good--kinder squirmish all over, an' it had to
come out or bu'st; which wouldn't 'a' be'n pleasant--the bu'stin' part,
I mean. But come--the old folks 'll be mighty oneasy ontil we git back.
Gi' me your hand, honey, an' you, John, keep cluss op."

"Where do you intend going, Castor?"

"To your house, a'ter t'others."

"Our house is like that of Mr. Wilson's--on fire, or burned to the
ground by this time. You can't see the light from here; but we did, a
little back."

"You don't--then whar's your folks?" exclaimed Tobe, anxiously.

"Out in the woods, somewhere. Fred gave the alarm--he overheard the
plan as he was coming through the woods toward our house. He sent
me on. He sent me ahead to warn Mr. Wilson, but Dusky Dick's devils
captured me. I saw him set fire to Wilson's house."

"Then how'd you git away?"

"He set off after you--along the Lower Trace--and sent me with two
Indians, as guards, to join Sloan Young's gang. We heard your horses,
and one of them ran out to see who it was. I killed the one left with
me. You finished the other, just now," hastily explained John.

"You don't tell me! Gi' me your hand--no, thar hain't no time for
that _now_, but you're a trump, anyhow, if I _do_ say so. It's a
peskier job 'n I 'lotted on, durned if 't'aint, now! Hev to use right
smart head-work to git out on it, too, ef we don't mind. _Drat_ the
imps--what's got into 'em, anyhow?" and Tobe spoke in a voice of
intense disgust.

"What do you think best to be done, now?"

"Don't talk--I've got to _think_. Take the gal, an' keep cluss ahind
me. Thar--so."

John passed one arm around the lithe waist of the maiden, who shrunk
back at first, but then, as his pressure increased, she yielded,
and felt all the better for so doing. Really, despite their ominous
surroundings, the young couple were progressing finely.

Not another word was spoken until Tobe Castor paused and uttered the
agreed upon signal; the cry of the night-hawk. Then Wilson and his
wife sprung forward from their covert.

"Annie--our child--where is she?" gasped the mother, breathlessly.

"Here, mother!" and then the trio were locked in a close and warm
embrace.

Tobe touched Stevens upon the arm, and drew him to one side. They were
the only ones of the party fit for sober consultation, now.

"You say that pesky half-breed, Sloan Young, was at your house?" asked
the old scout.

"Yes. I heard Dusky Dick say so."

"You don't think he--that is, you think the folks got out safe?"

"I do. If not, we would have heard of it. There was no shooting.
Besides, Fred got there soon after dark, and was to start right away
for here. He feared an attack would be made upon his people, too."

"Then they're on the road, _some whars_. They must 'a' see'd the light,
as they hed higher ground to look frum, 'n we had. O' course Young 'd
set out a'ter 'em, hot-fut. Then you say Dusky Dick went out torst the
settlements?"

"Yes. Along the Lower Trace. He believed you had gone that way."

"I 'lowed he should. But mayhap 'twould 'a' bin better if we hed 'a'
kep' on, as 't turns out now. We'll hev 'em both afore an' ahind,
now--durn 'em! But we'll hev to run the chances, fer all I see,"
gloomily muttered Tobe.

"But our folks--what about them?" and there was a deep anxiety visible
in the young man's voice, as he spoke.

"They're in the hands o' the good Lord, boy. We cain't do nothin' fer
'em now, onless we stumble onto 'em, like. The boy's with 'em, you say,
an' he's wuth a heap in a muss like this 'ere. If so be it's to be,
they'll git through all safe; but if not, then the Lord have marcy on
thar souls!" solemnly added the hunter.

"Amen! But I fear the worst. I wish I was with them, now."

"You could do them but little good, if the worst is to come. Fred is
thar, an' now you must kind o' take his place here. We'll need our
best licks to bring 'em through, I'm afeerd."

"Tobe," said Wilson, approaching him, "what've we to do, now? Annie
says Fred is not at Stevens'."

"We must turn 'bout face, an' strike fer the settlements. Not
deerect, thar, fer Dusky Dick is 'tween us an' them; but by a sort o'
circumbendibus like, thet'll throw them off o' the scent. We'll b'ar to
the east--"

The further speech of the old hunter was abruptly cut short, by a
series of thrilling sounds. Full well the little party knew the meaning
of these, and each one shuddered convulsively at the dire visions
conjured up before their mind's eye.

A rifle-shot, a shrill yell--other shots, followed by more cries and
yells; then a wild uproar, as of deadly strife, at close quarters.




CHAPTER VII.

THE FOREST TRAGEDY.


We will now turn to and trace up the fortunes of the little party whom
we left just quitting the "lodge by the rock," and entering the gloomy
forest.

A longing, lingering look was cast back at the rude but loved
structure, which had sheltered them for so long a time. But there was
no retreating now.

Fred was probably the most anxious one of the party, for he knew,
better far than they, the real extent of the peril that menaced. He
knew that they would be fortunate indeed, were all members of both
families alive and well at the next day-dawning.

He was not without some experience in Indian fighting, for before they
removed to Minnesota, he had spent several winters trapping in the
Blackfoot country, and with Tobe Castor, had, more than once, made
his mark upon the persons of the dusky-skinned heathen. And since
his residence here, Fred had kept his woodcraft brushed up, by long
hunting excursions with the old scout.

So he cautioned his companions to step lightly and to avoid all
conversation, while he glided on some yards in advance, trusting to
discover any impending danger long enough beforehand to guard them from
it. Their progress was necessarily slow, but the value of the young
ranger's precautions was soon made apparent.

Fred's keen ear caught the sounds of approaching footsteps, and rapidly
falling back, he drew his companions to one side on the narrow trace,
where they crouched down amid the bushes. Fred knelt before them, his
weapons ready for instant use, in case a collision was unavoidable.

The light pattering sound drew nearer, and then one form after another
glided directly past the fugitives, who even held their breath, so
imminent seemed the risk of discovery. Then the last link of the living
chain passed by, and was lost to view amid the dense shadows.

Not until the last sound died utterly away, did Fred venture to move or
speak. Then his voice was low, but full of uneasiness.

"It was Sloan Young's gang. I recognized him. They have gone to your
home, and when they find their plans are discovered they will be after
us, half-wild."

"Then let us hasten on at once," impatiently muttered Stevens. "We can
reach your house by the time they get to ours. With such a start there
is no danger of their overtaking us."

"Not so. You forget that Dusky Dick's gang is somewhere near here, and
if we run across him, then we are lost indeed. A rifle-shot would call
those devils back, and then we would be massacred in a moment--or else
saved for the torture. No, we must use more caution now than ever. Will
you be guided by me? I have had more experience in these matters than
you have, or I should not ask such a thing," added Fred, modestly.

"Yes--we will do as you say. Only be quick!"

"Then we will go on as before. Only be as cautious in stepping as
possible, and don't press too close upon me."

Fred reëntered the path and glided on in advance. He felt extreme
anxiety as to the probable result of the venture, now that he knew foes
were both before and behind.

He was also anxious regarding the result of John Stevens' errand. If he
had been delayed, or had any thing happened to prevent his gaining the
cabin, matters would be gloomy indeed.

Dusky Dick was evidently up to mischief, and as he was not with Sloan
Young, what more likely than that he would pay a visit to the Wilson
cabin? Should he do so, and find the inmates unsuspicious of their
danger, an easy victory would be his. No wonder the young settler felt
worried.

And then he abruptly paused, with a slight exclamation of dismay.
Before him he could distinguish the fast widening trace of a
conflagration; the sky was rapidly reddening with what he knew must be
the glare of a burning cabin--and that cabin none other than his own!

"See! the devils are at work!" he hissed, in a strained and unnatural
voice, as his companions drew nearer. "It is our cabin on fire!"

The little party stood in mute anxiety. Their eyes roved from one face
to another. A terrible fear was upon them.

They could just distinguish the sound of shrill yells, as of Indians,
borne to their ears by the favoring breeze. It sounded like the
death-knell to all their hopes.

"What will you do now, Fred?" asked Stevens, breaking the painful
silence.

"I must go ahead and see what that means. If John has been delayed by
any thing, I fear the worst--all is lost. And it looks that way, for I
hear no shooting."

"Will it be safe?"

"Not for the rest of you. You must stay here until I can find out how
the ground lies. It would be worse than folly to go forward now, not
knowing who we may meet. Come out here--it will be safer. So if any
red-skins chance along the Trace, they will not discover you, if you
are anyways careful."

Fred did not pause for a reply, but led the way out a few yards from
the trail. Then he bade the fugitives crouch down amid the underbrush
and await his return, which would be as speedy as possible.

"Would it not be better for us to keep right on toward the settlements?
It seems dangerous to waste time waiting here, like this."

"No, it would never do. You would only lose your way, if indeed you did
not run into some ambush. You must stay here until I come back. It is
the best you can do, now."

"But hasten, then," and the settler composed himself to await the
result with such patience as he could summon.

As Fred glided noiselessly away through the gloom, a chill fell upon
the spirits of the little party, that seemed a premonition of coming
danger. Stevens started to his feet, intending to venture all, rather
than remain there in suspense, but the women finally persuaded him to
abide by the decision of the young ranger, whose experience in such
matters was far the greatest.

To increase their anxiety, they now perceived the glow that marked the
destruction of their own home. The circle of death seemed narrowing
around them with each passing moment, and the suspense was absolutely
killing. Any thing, however bad, seemed preferable to this torture.

The minutes rolled on, each one seeming like an hour of ordinary time,
and still no signs of Fred's return. Then came a rifle-shot from some
point not far distant--a wild yell, followed by the loud crashing of
what seemed horses' hoofs, passing through the forest at headlong
speed. Tremblingly the three fugitives awaited the result, fearing to
move from their covert.

The glowing beacons upon either hand of them, grew more faint as the
moments passed on, and then were entirely shut out from view by the
gathering clouds, and the thickly clustering tree-tops.

And still no sign of Fred's return. Stevens could stand the suspense no
longer, but arose to his feet, saying:

"I will wait no longer. Something must have happened, or he would have
been back long ago. It is throwing away our only chance by stopping
here. Come, let us go."

"But Fred said"--uttered Jennie, falteringly.

"I know that, but something must have happened to hinder his coming
back. If we stay here, we will only be smelled out and killed by these
murdering red-skins. Come on," decisively added Stevens, as he moved
away from the spot.

The women well knew that all resistance would be in vain, and arose to
obey.

Stevens did not think it prudent to travel in the beaten Trace, lest he
should meet some of the enemy, and so kept along through the forest,
using such skill as he was possessed of, to proceed silently.

But the danger foreseen by Fred, proved well founded. In the very
outset the borderer went astray. He had lost his bearings, and instead
of proceeding toward the lower settlements, he was pursuing an almost
directly opposite direction, or nearly toward his own cabin--or where
that had previously stood.

In evading the tree-trunks and clumps of bushes, he deviated from a
direct course, now bearing to the right, now left, until he almost
struck the beaten trail they had lately traversed, when led by Fred
Wilson. And then Stevens ran headlong into the very danger he was most
anxious to avoid.

The settler came first, then his wife, and after her, Jennie. The dress
of the latter caught upon a root, and she paused to loosen it; a fact
that probably saved her life.

For just then a wild yell rung out from close before Stevens,
accompanied by a sharp crack and broad glare that lighted up the scene
for a moment, with startling vividness. By it the settler saw the dusky
figures of some half-score savages, and with impulse of the moment, he
threw up his rifle, firing at the foremost one.

A thrilling death-yell that followed told that his shot had not been
spent in vain, but then a return volley rung out, and he staggered
back, wounded unto death. He stumbled over the prostrate form of his
wife, whom the first shot had stricken down, but recovered himself as
the enemy sprung forward with exultant whoops and yells.

For a brief moment the settler battled with frantic fury, but all was
in vain. The bullet that first struck him had reached the seat of life,
and then a knife pierced his side. Still defiant, he sunk down, with a
hoarse cry, upon the body of his murdered wife. And over them raged the
red-skins, fighting for the coveted scalps like demons incarnate.

Jennie was sheltered by the intervening tree-trunk, and although more
than one bullet shattered the rough bark, she was unharmed. Terror held
her enchained to the spot, despite herself.

Then she heard the dying cry of her father, and knew that all was lost.
With a low cry of agony she turned and fled through the forest, half
dead with horror.

The red-skins scrambling for the coveted trophies, heard her not, but
one other ear did; that of Sloan Young, and divining the truth, he
sprung forward after the fleeing girl, and knew that the coveted prize
he feared was lost, was now just within his grasp. He gave vent to a
long, loud yell of diabolical exultation.

But Jennie's feet seemed gifted with more than mortal speed, and she
fled over the rough ground, through the bushes and tangled shrubbery,
fully holding her vantage-ground, hard as the half-breed strove to
overtake her. Uttering furious curses, he dashed madly on--_to his
death_!

Jennie sped on, blindly, half unconsciously. A horrible sound filled
her ears--the death-cry of her father--the gasping groan of her
murdered mother. She knew not her own danger; she only felt some
frightful danger was driving her on, she knew not whither.

She sped on past a dark, crouching form, and then felt, rather than
saw, another figure rise up before her. With a low gasping moan she
sunk unresistingly into the outstretched arms; her senses fled and she
fainted.

The half-breed also heard the cry and answered it with one of exultant
triumph, for he believed that the fugitive must soon drop from
exhaustion, when she would become an easy prey to him. But he was
doomed to a bitter disappointment.

He noted the abrupt cessation of Jennie's footsteps, and tricky
himself, he suspected some ruse upon her part; most probably an attempt
at doubling upon him. To defeat this he paused and listened intently.

He saw a dark figure rise up almost within arm's length of him,
and believing it to be his intended victim, he sprung forward with
outstretched hands, crying:

"You may as well gi' up, my dear--"

Thus far he spoke, and no further. For a strong hand clutched his
throat, and as the tall form towered above him, the gleam of a
descending knife-blade filled his eyes. The half-breed made one
desperate effort to free himself; he was not given time for more.

But he was held like a child, and then the keen knife hissed down--then
with a horrible _thud_, the hilt fairly struck against his chest. The
long blade had cloven his heart in twain.

Still he made a desperate effort--his death-throe, it was--and freed
his throat from the vise-like grip fastened upon it. A single wild yell
broke from his lips, and then he sunk a lifeless weight in the arms of
his conqueror, a corpse.

Still the alarm was given, and that last cry bade fair to avenge its
author's death. For it had reached the ears of the still scuffling
savages, and awoke them to their folly.

They recognized the voice of their leader, and one of them had placed
the sound; and he quickly communicated it to his comrades. Then with
shrill yells of anger they sprung forward, eager to assist or avenge
their chief, as the case might be.

"Put the gal down, Jack," muttered Tobe Castor--for it was indeed
him--speaking in a quick tone. "The imps is a comin' hot fut. Let the
women hunker down cluss ahind the log. It's _fight_ now, an' we'll hev
our hands full 'thout _them_!"

The trio--Castor, Wilson and Stevens--drew together, the better to meet
the shock they knew must soon come. They could not avoid it by flight;
that course would be certain destruction, as they well knew.

The three women had been placed in a clump of bushes bordering and
overhanging a large fallen tree and against this, on the opposite side,
the men backed, as by it they secured themselves from being assailed
upon all sides at the same time. Tobe again spoke:

"Fire as I do, an' then drap down on yer faces. Ef they shoot at the
bleeze, thet'll mebbe save us. Then do the best you know how, with cold
steel an' clubbed rifles, ef so be they make a rush."

There was no time for further instructions, if such had been needed.
But the others knew what lay before them well enough. They knew it
would probably result in a hand-to-hand combat, that could scarcely end
otherwise than in their destruction. And yet they did not flinch. They
had dear and helpless ones to fight for, as well as their own lives.

The yelling red-skins came on at full speed, until within a short
distance of the borderers, when they abruptly paused; the ominous
stillness awed them. They could not comprehend it.

One Eye did not answer; then he must be dead. Nothing could be heard of
his slayer or slayers. Therefore they could not have fled, or the sound
of their footsteps would have been heard. And would they have remained
here, unless in strong force, sufficient to successfully resist the
braves of the dead half-breed?

But then the more impatient of the Sioux, excited by the slight taste
of blood they had in the death of the two fugitives, gave a cry and
sprung forward. The rest followed, in a compact mass; a fatal move upon
their part.

The three men standing beside the fallen tree could now faintly
distinguish the enemy, as they surmounted a slight knoll. Knowing the
advantage of a first blow, Castor leveled his rifle, the action being
closely imitated by his comrades, and then fired.

The three reports sounded almost as one, and carried death and dismay
into the ranks of the Sioux. The horrible death-yells and groans of
agony told how fatal had been the discharge, and, as with one impulse,
the survivors broke and fled, without firing one shot.

But this panic was only momentary. Then they rallied, and proceeded to
concert some plan for the revenge the blood of their fallen comrades
demanded at their hands.

The three borderers dropped to the ground, as agreed upon, but this
precaution was needless, as we have already seen. Then they began
hurriedly re-charging their weapons, full well knowing there would be
further need of them, ere the affair was over.

"They are driven back--why not take the women and slip away?" whispered
Wilson, cautiously, he being nearest to Tobe.

"Don't be a fool, Ed--_don't_, fer marcy's sake. They'd hear us, an'
then we'd be in a nice fix--I guess _not_. Thet's jest what they want
the most. They don't know how we're fixed now, and 'll fight shy fer a
time. No, we must stick it out here--fer a time, anyhow."

Their weapons recharged, the three men crouched down in anxious
waiting. Especially was John Stevens troubled.

He feared the worst. He had found Jennie, his sister, fleeing from a
spot where had been going on a desperate fight for life. But where were
the others? his father and mother? Were they dead, or also fugitives in
the forest?

That was a query he feared to answer, but something down in his
heart told him that a great calamity had occurred: that he was now
parentless. Still, there was a faint hope. Jennie had escaped with
life; then might not the others have fared equally as well?

Fortunately he had something to distract his thoughts, in a measure.
Otherwise he would have gone mad. But now he must bear up for the sake
of his sister--his loved one and her friends. They were in imminent
peril, and upon his arms partly depended their hopes of preservation.

The groans of the dying wretches had ceased, and all was once more
still in the forest. Even the insects had seemed to cease their
humming, and the faint breeze to die utterly away. The stillness was
awful--depressing in the extreme.

For despite this seeming peacefulness, they well knew that bloodthirsty
and unscrupulous foes were busily compassing their destruction. They
knew that some subtle plot was being concocted by the savages, who
would be fairly wild with rage and thirst for revenge. This suspense
was harder to bear than the deadliest strife would have been, for while
they knew their peril was imminent, they knew not in which direction it
would first appear, nor the shape it would assume.

But they had not long to wait for the knowledge. A faint rustling sound
at some little distance first met their vigilant ears, although no
human form could be seen. This for a time puzzled them, as the sound
appeared confined to a circumscribed space, near the little knoll upon
which the Indians had stood when the fatal volley was discharged at
them.

Then this rustling ceased, and another sound took its place. Castor
uttered a grunt of dismay, as though he comprehended the meaning of
this. Wilson whispered:

"What is it, Tobe?"

"Wait an' you'll see soon a plenty. _Cuss_ the pesky imps!" and the old
scout fairly ground his teeth with intense ire.

And in the course of a few moments they _did_ see, sure enough. A
faint, flickering glow--not a blaze, at least visible to them--shone
forth upon the knoll, only a few yards distant from its crest. At this
moment, Stevens and Wilson divined the truth, as Castor had already
done.

_The Indians were building a fire!_

Their object in thus doing was plain. They felt assured their enemy had
not fled, and by this light they counted upon discovering their covert,
without serious risk to themselves.

"_Cuss_ the imp!" hissed Castor, wrathfully. "He's hid behind a rock
or log or somethin' else, or I'd soon sicken the dog, fer good. But we
must git out o' here, jest the quickest!"

"But how? Surely they wouldn't leave a path open for us? They must have
surrounded us, to guard against any move like that," muttered Wilson.

"I know thet--I ain't sech a pesky fool as to make a _run_ fer it,
yit. But ef we stay here tell thet light bleezes up--as _'twill_
shortly--we're gone suckers, fer shore! But we must git over the log,
here. Thar's a big fork in it, whar we kin hunker down, an' hev the
bushes fer kiver, too. Then they cain't rout us out 'thout makin' a
rush fer it; which they won't be apt to do afore day, anyhow. So up
with ye, one at a time, an' git the wimmen onder kiver."

"You go first--if you know where the fork is."

"I'd _orter_ know--seein's as how I durned nigh broke my neck over the
pesky thing a-tumblin' down whar we run up, a bit ago. But when you
come, don't make no n'ise, 'less you'll hev a load o' lead in your
karkidge as 'll be mighty onhandy to kerry about."

So speaking, the old scout cautiously rose up and crawled upon the
log. The fire was now blazing up quite briskly, and already casting out
a circle of light that nearly reached the tree-trunk. There was no time
to be lost.

Jennie was still half-senseless, and, stooping, the old scout gently
raised her in his arms, and, in a low, guarded whisper, bade the other
two women follow him. Though trembling with apprehension, they obeyed,
without a word.

Castor glided through the bushes, along the log for a few paces,
and then pausing, lowered Jennie to the ground. It was a narrow
space between two forks of the tree, that were here some two feet in
thickness, while over and around them, grew a dense fringe of bushes
and vines.

There was ample room for the entire party, and while hidden from the
enemies' view, by lying down, they were protected in a great measure
from any bullets that might be discharged into their covert. Upon
this fact Tobe had counted when he determined to remove from the spot
rendered untenable by the rapidly-increasing light of the fire.

The women safe placed, Castor turned and whispered to his comrades.
Wilson was already over the log, and Stevens speedily followed his
example. Then they sought the new refuge, where they knelt down with
senses upon the keen alert, and rifles ready for use.

"You wimmen keep cluss," continued Castor. "Them pesky reds is mighty
keerless, sometimes, an' one o' thar bullits mought chaince to hit ye.
Hurt, too, they would; bet yer life they _do_!"

"What do you think they will do now?" anxiously queried Wilson.

"Don't know. Tell you better a'ter a bit. But then you'll know jest as
soon's I will, come to think o' it. Hist! jes' lis'en to _thet_!"

This exclamation was drawn forth by a series of sounds that suddenly
broke the stillness of the forest. They seemed to come from every
point of the compass, forming a terribly-significant concert, when the
listeners so well knew the true performers.

The faint howling as of wolves; the whistle of the night-hawk; the
chirp of the tree-toad or ground squirrel; the mournful cry of the
rain-crow--with still other sounds, came from the forest depths,
telling the fugitives that their foes were upon the alert--that they
were surrounded by a cordon of bloodthirsty and cunning enemies, whose
every power would be strenuously exerted to wreak a fearful vengeance
upon the slayers of their fallen comrades.

The fire blazed higher and more brightly, casting a flood of light over
all surrounding objects, plainly revealing the long log, behind which
crouched the fugitives. But still, not a trace of the savages could be
seen, though keen and practiced eyes swept every foot of the ground
revealed.

Then the signals abruptly ceased, and even the fire appeared to burn
without noise. A stillness as of death swept over the forest. The
moment of action was evidently nigh at hand.

"Keep your eyes peeled, boys," muttered Tobe Castor, as his teeth
clenched and his eyes glittered with a strange glow. "They know jest
about whar we be, an' 'll show thar hands 'fore long. Plug the fust
varmint as you kin draw a bead on, but don't waste 'ary shot."

It was evident that the savages had determined upon the position of
the fugitives, but then a wide stretch was given them, for the log was
some fifty or sixty feet in length, the entire body of it fringed with
bushes, any point along it sufficiently dense for the fugitives to hide
in. This fact alone kept the Indians from making a desperate onset at
once.

Then a rifle-shot rung out from the gloom beyond the broad circle of
light. The bullet sunk with a dull thud into the decayed log, some feet
from the fugitives.

Another and another rung forth, from different points of the compass,
but still not a cry or a sound came to tell the Indians of the exact
spot occupied by their intended victims. One of the bullets tore its
way through the cheek of Tobe Castor, but he did not flinch or move,
save to brush the hot blood from his eyes.

Then a series of cries ran along the cordon of dusky warriors. Its
meaning was comprehended by the old scout, who muttered:

"It's comin' in airnest, now, boys! Pick yer game an' drap it. Then
load up, ef you hev time."

The words still hissed upon his lips, when a wild whoop resounded from
every side of their position; and then a number of dusky figures
appeared in view. But they did not advance boldly; instead, they sprung
from side to side, yelling frightfully and brandishing their weapons in
the air above their heads.

Castor was too wise a veteran to be fooled in the manner they evidently
counted upon. His hands checked the less experienced men, whose eyes
were already glancing along their rifle-barrels.

"Don't shoot--fer yer lives don't shoot yit!" he hissed, warningly.
"They on'y want to find out whar we be. Don't ye see? Wait ontil they
make a gineral rush."

His prudence was soon confirmed, for like magic the yelling crowd and
the dim, phantom-like figures disappeared as though they had sunk into
the ground. Evidently the red-skins were puzzled, knowing now that
either their prey had fled, or else were far more cunning then they had
given them credit for.

Thus another half-hour expired, and still no direct assault was made,
although an occasional shot was discharged into the bush-screened
log. An overruling Providence seemed to shield the fugitives, for as
yet, the crease upon Tobe Castor's cheek was the only wound the party
had received, though more than once the hissing missiles had passed
so close that their venomous whistle could be distinguished by the
besieged.

Then Tobe gave a faint hiss. His comrades gazed in the direction his
finger pointed, and they beheld a faint, shadowy figure upon the
ground, at only a few yards' distance. Under other circumstances this
would hardly have been noticed, or if so, would have been thought a
mere shadow; but now, with his senses sharpened by peril, Castor knew
that it was the form of an Indian, who was crawling up toward them,
evidently with the intention of learning their exact position; a sort
of forlorn hope, in which he risked his life to benefit his comrades
and work the ruin of his foes.

"Leave the imp to me," muttered Tobe; "keep a good look-out on your
side fer more o' the same sort. Don't let 'em fool ye!"




CHAPTER VIII.

A STROKE FOR VENGEANCE.


With painfully throbbing heart, Fred Wilson left his companions and
hastened along the narrow Trace toward the blazing cabin, to learn the
fate of his family. He dreaded the worst, for a strange sensation of
coming evil weighed heavily upon his mind.

He was not given to superstition or a belief in omens, but now it
seemed as though the spirit of some loved one was hovering around him.
A firm belief assailed him that he was doomed to suffer some deep and
bitter loss.

And in vain he strove to cast this thought aside; it would return
despite himself. And from a fancy, it became a settled conviction.

Still it did not prevent him from displaying his usual caution and
skill, and he glided along the path, dark and gloomy though the woods
were, with almost the certainty and ease he would have displayed in
broad daylight. Only at times could he distinguish the reddish glow of
the blazing cabin; at others the densely clustering boughs concealed it
from his vision.

In this manner he had proceeded over half a mile, when he fancied he
heard the faint sound of cautious footfalls before him. Instantly
pausing, he bent his ear to the ground. He was not deceived; some
person or persons were coming toward him.

With a wild hope in his heart, the young scout softly drew to one side
of the Trace, and crouched down beside the trunk of a large tree, in
such a position that the passers-by, whoever they might chance to be,
would be momently outlined against a rift in the tree-tops beyond.

The catlike footfalls came nearer, and then the travelers passed
before him. In the first one he recognized an Indian. He could just
distinguish the nodding plumes upon his head.

And then the next one he noticed was the same. But he had,
unfortunately, looked one moment too long upon the first passer. By so
doing, he only caught a faint glimpse of the second. The last he saw
more closely.

There were only three in number, and he believed them all Indians.
Had he known the truth, the entire course of the after events of that
memorable night would have been changed; perhaps for the better.

For had he known that his friend, John Stevens, was of the number, he
would have dared all to rescue him, and thus learn definitely how the
young settler's mission had terminated. But he was not aware of this,
and so suffered them to pass by, unchallenged.

Fred then arose and pressed rapidly on, his mind filled with
conflicting emotions. This party were coming direct from the burning
building; then what was he fated to find there? All was still in that
direction. Was the tragedy over?

And then the young man paused upon the edge of the clearing. With
wildly-beating heart, he gazed out upon the scene of destruction that
lay before him.

The cabin was one mass of glowing coals, though as yet the walls were
standing. And though his eyes roved keenly around upon the smooth
ground before the building, the dreaded sight met not his gaze. He had
feared he would behold the dead and mangled corses of his family lying
there, weltering in their blood.

But, as we know, this sight did not greet his eyes, and he derived some
faint consolation from it. All might not yet be lost.

And with these thoughts, he began cautiously circling around the
clearing, too wise to venture within the broad circle of light, while
ignorant whether there might not be a score of his enemies lurking
near, watching for some other unwary victim.

He had gained a position nearly opposite the point where he had first
stood, when he received an evidence of the prudence of his caution. A
tall, dark form emerged from the shadows near the mouth of the Trace,
and then strode rapidly toward the building.

Just then the walls fell in with a loud jar, and as the sparks ascended
skyward in a dense cloud, the blaze burst out afresh, and cast a
still more brilliant light over the scene. By its aid, Fred could see
that the new-comer was an Indian, and an angry glow filled his heart,
as he reflected that this same savage might have been an active agent
in the death of his family. For the young man still believed that he
would find them dead. In no other way could he account for the strange
depression that weighed upon his spirits.

And he resolved that this one, at least, should never live to boast of
his bloody deeds. He should die, and by his hand. And then he set about
compassing this end.

In this point again Fortune seemed favoring him. The red-skin stood
motionless for a moment, his eyes roving keenly around the clearing;
then his tall form stooped, and he glided to and fro, evidently
searching for some sign.

Fred waited in eager anticipation for a moment more favorable than
this, although the range was short, and he could easily have picked off
the savage with his rifle. But this was a move he did not fancy, as he
did not know how many red-skins might be within hearing, and with the
lives of others partly depending upon him, Fred dared not run the risk
of a shot. The blow must be dealt with cold steel, if at all.

The red-skin ceased his zig-zag movements, and now proceeded in a
direct line. Fred knew that he was following some trail, and to his
stern delight, found that trail led the Indian toward the Lower Trace.

With sternly-compressed lips and eyes glowing with a strange light, the
young scout glided rapidly toward the point where the Trace began, a
long, keen knife firmly clenched in his hand. He was none too soon, for
scarcely had he crouched behind a tree-trunk, than the Indian entered
the bushes, his head still bowed toward the ground.

Then he paused, with a slight grunt, as of disappointment. It was none
other than the petty chief who had been with One Eye, or Sloan Young,
and who had started off to put Dusky Dick upon the watch when it was
found the Stevens family had fled.

Fred Wilson collected his energies and sprung upon the unprepared
red-skin, knife in hand. Ere the assailed could lift a finger in
self-defense, the keen weapon hissed through the air and then buried
itself, with a peculiar _thud_, deep in his broad chest.

A low, gurgling cry arose to his lips, but then died away with the gush
of blood that filled his throat. Then, as the knife was withdrawn, the
tall form, so lately full of life and strength, tottered and sunk to
the ground, a lump of lifeless clay.

"You are the first one--but will not be the last, by many more!"
muttered the young scout, with a terrible depth of hatred and revenge
in his tones, as he stooped over the dead man and adroitly removed his
scalp.

Then he suddenly sprung erect. A significant sound met his ear. A
rifle-shot--an Indian yell, at no very great distance.

It apparently proceeded from near the spot where he had left the
Stevens family, and Fred feared they had been discovered by the Sioux.
He could do no good by remaining here, as there were no traces of his
family, and he resolved to return at once, though fearing it would be
too late.

The young scout was not one to hesitate, when once his mind was made
up, and securing the gory scalp to his waist, he entered the forest
once more, gliding with speedy footsteps toward the point where he had
left his friends in hiding. Still, despite his rapid progress, he was
too late.

As he neared the covert, he uttered the signal agreed upon, but without
an answer. Then he crept forward to the clump of bushes. He parted them
and peered inside. They were untenanted by those whom he sought.

Fred stood in angry disappointment, not unmingled with apprehension.
He did not know whether Stevens had disobeyed his strict injunctions,
and ventured forth in an attempt to escape unaided, or whether he had
been surprised and taken prisoner, and he dared not strike a light to
discover, lest it should prove a beacon to guide a treacherous bullet
or arrow to his life.

Then, as he stood there, another sound met his ear; one similar to that
which had drawn him from the clearing, only louder and more protracted.
Two single rifle-shots and then what seemed a united volley,
accompanied by wild yells and whoops.

There could be no mistaking this. He knew that one party, at least, of
his friends had been attacked by the Indians; most likely those whom he
had taken under his own charge.

He did not hesitate, only long enough to determine the direction and
probable distance of the strife from where he stood, and then pressed
forward toward it, with as much speed as was consistent with safety.
And now he displayed in an astonishing degree, the skill he had
attained, thanks to the instructions of Tobe Castor.

He glided through the forest at a half-run, with apparently as much
ease and celerity as though the intense gloom was replaced by broad
daylight, seeming to avoid the tree-trunks and other obstacles by
intuition. And his footfalls made scarcely more noise than those of the
deer, traversing its course with unhasted steps.

Fred could still distinguish the faint sound of yells and cries,
as though the strife still continued, though there were no more
rifle-shots. This fact puzzled him not a little, though he did not
slacken his pace.

Then the yells seemed to shift places, continuing only for a few
moments; then dying entirely away. Then again came the loud reports
of firearms, with shrill howls of anguish and terror. The plot was
becoming somewhat tangled and complicated, and Fred's wonder increased.

Still he proceeded, though more deliberately, for under the
circumstances he thought prudence was the wisest course for him to
follow. Then he uttered a little exclamation as his foot struck against
something yielding. There could be no mistaking this peculiar touch; he
knew that he was standing over a corpse!

A convulsive shudder ran through his frame as he leaped back apace; but
then he conquered this involuntary repugnance, and advancing, stooped
over the form. Eyesight could avail him nothing here; the sense of
feeling alone must be depended upon.

His hand touched the body, and a thrill pervaded his form as his
fingers rested upon a soft, slimy substance. He knew it was blood, fast
coagulating. Then a glad hope filled his heart as his hand encountered
the smooth-shaven crown, with the long scalp-lock of an Indian.
Perhaps his friends had not perished, after all!

He slowly moved away from the corpse, feeling along the ground with
his feet, but for some moments, felt in vain. Then he again touched
something that he knew was another victim.

Stooping, his hand rested upon the unmistakable dress of a white man.
Gliding up the body, he then felt of the face. The long heavy beard
there confirmed his suspicions. He felt assured that the dead body of
Wesley Stevens lay before him.

And then a low cry of agonizing horror broke from his lips, as he
touched a woman's dress. He staggered back and sunk to the ground,
trembling and unnerved. He feared the worst. He dreaded to move, lest
he should find the dead and mangled corse of his loved one--of sweet
Jennie Stevens.

But then with an effort he aroused himself, and without a thought for
the danger he might thus incur, he struck a match and bent over the
forms of the ill-fated fugitives. By its faint flickering rays, he
recognized the father and mother; the light also showed him the bare
and gory skulls where the scalps had been ruthlessly torn away.

He only saw this much, when the match burned to his finger tips and
then expired. Tremblingly he essayed to light another, but he was
too greatly unnerved. He sunk down upon the blood-stained ground and
covered his eyes as though he would shut out the horrible vision that
filled his brain.

It was a moment of frightful torture, and it seemed as though he would
go mad. He believed that the dear one, whom he loved better than his
own life, was lying near at hand, dead--murdered like her parents.

But then with an effort he aroused up. Though sick at heart, his hands
were steady as he struck another match. He had nerved himself to bear
the worst, now.

The light cast a faint glow around, but the dreaded sight did not meet
his staring eyes. As he strode around the spot hope sprung up in his
heart, once more.

A whip-like report broke the stillness of the air, so close that Fred
started back and dropped the match, believing that he had been the
target. But then he beheld his mistake, as another and yet another
shot rung out at some little distance to his left. He also heard shrill
yells, that he knew could only proceed from the throats of red-skins.

His eyes flashed instinctively and he clutched his rifle with a firm
grip. He remembered now the second series of shots and yells he had
heard; these were probably a continuation of those. If so, then the
savages who had slain his friends were yet at hand, and if Jennie was
taken a prisoner, she must be there also.

If so, perhaps he could effect her rescue now. But then who could be
the ones at whom the shots were fired? His family? Fred uttered a low
cry of eager hope as this idea flashed across his mind.

The young scout listened for a moment, and then glided forward in the
direction from whence came the sounds. Scarcely had he made the first
step, when the cries died away. But still advancing, Fred soon caught a
glimpse of a bright light before him.

More cautiously he crept on, every sense upon the keen alert, until he
paused beside a huge tree whose butt was surrounded by a dense growth
of bushes, and then gazed out upon the scene. He beheld a huge bonfire,
blazing upon a slight knoll. But not a living figure was in sight.

Then as he gazed, a dark figure glided between him and the fire; the
light shining brightly, revealed the features of an Indian. Then, like,
a shadow, this melted away. The stillness began to be oppressive, and
Fred could scarcely comprehend the drama that was being enacted before
him.

Leaving the tree, he glided stealthily along through the gloom,
intending to incircle the bonfire, and discover, if possible, who were
attacked by the Indians. He knew there were enemies close about him,
and he brought his keenest powers into play, making scarcely more noise
than would have done a serpent.

He had gone but a few yards, when he heard a slight rustling a little
to one side, and, pausing, he speedily distinguished the form of a man,
evidently a red-skin. It seemed as though he must be discovered, and
Fred drew his limbs together for the emergency; but the savage brushed
past him, almost close enough for their extended arms to have met. If
he saw the dusky figure of the young scout, he evidently mistook it
for one of his own comrades.

With a long-drawn breath of relief, Fred passed on, his eyes roving
keenly in every direction. Keeping at a certain distance from the
fire, he had covered nearly one-fourth of the distance necessary for a
complete circuit, when a new peril threatened him; one that he did not
see in time to avoid.

He noted the form of an Indian coming toward him, just without the
circle of light. Anxiously he watched the movements of this foe. He
could not retreat, as that would only subject him to suspicion, and the
red-man was so close that the slightest movement would be heard.

And yet the savage was coming directly toward him. Fred crouched lower
and drew his knife partly from its sheath. He had not time for more,
when the savage paused directly beside him, his eyes bent upon a long
line of bushes at but a few paces distance. Then he spoke in a low
tone, using the Sioux dialect.

"Gray Bull is creeping up to find the pale-faces. Let my brother keep
his rifle ready to shoot them as they spring up."

Fred did not reply, lest his voice should betray him, but he stealthily
drew his knife from its sheath. Then the savage turned toward him, in
evident surprise at not being answered.

The fire blazed up afresh, as the topmost sticks broke and fell down.
A ray of light penetrated the bushes, and fell fairly athwart the pale
features of the scout and those of his copper-tinted companion.

Fred beheld the wondering look--the quick change that told of
recognition, and knew that only the promptest action could preserve his
life. His left hand shot out and clutched the throat of the red-skin,
and then the keen knife hissed through the air.

But with a sudden start back, the Indian freed his throat in time to
utter a wild yell of alarm, ere the weapon drank his life's blood. Then
for a brief moment all was still.

Then a single rifle-shot rung out, and Fred felt the bullet crease his
neck. He knew that he was discovered and leaping to his feet he leveled
his rifle at an advancing Indian and fired. Then with a hoarse, defiant
shout, mingled with a death-yell from the stricken savage, he turned
and fled from the spot.

A frightful tumult arose, and the woods echoed with the swift, heavy
tramp of the Sioux as they dashed in hot pursuit after their daring foe.




CHAPTER IX.

OUT OF THE TRAP.


Tobe Castor keenly watched the slowly approaching red-skin. He could
long since have disposed of him by a rifle-shot, had he felt so
inclined; but that he did not choose to do. If he did, then the main
object of the savages would be accomplished. Once given the exact
position of the pale-faces, such a storm of bullets would be poured in
upon them that death would be inevitable.

The old scout had decided upon a plan of action that he believed might
work, though the chances were greatly against it. He saw that the
red-skin would strike the bushes, if he maintained the course he had
begun, at only a few feet from where crouched the fugitives.

The bushes, interlaced with vines and creepers, were very dense, and a
person standing close upon the outside could not perceive those within,
by night, unless he first parted the screen. This was what the savage
would have to do, in case he accomplished his object.

Castor hoped to be able to quiet this dangerous customer with the
knife, and so quietly that those who were watching his progress,
would still be at a loss as to their exact whereabouts. It would be
difficult, though he believed it could be done.

Warning his comrades by a gesture to remain perfectly quiet, the old
scout moved along by slow degrees so as to intercept the savage. When
the point was gained directly in front of the creeping figure, Castor
paused and prepared his knife for use.

But the trial was not yet to come. A strange and unexpected
interruption came and afforded the besieged a respite, none the less
welcome, because unlooked for.

There resounded a hoarse, gurgling yell--a rifle-shot--another; and
then the defiant shout in the unmistakable voice of a white man.
Following, came wild cries and whoops from the red-skins.

It was indeed the discovery of the young scout, Fred Wilson, although
his friends did not know it. And a most fortunate occurrence it proved
to be, at least for them.

The savages were bewildered and knew not what to make of the affair.
But then all seemed clear.

The strange silence of the pale-faces was now explained. They no longer
wondered that no reply had come from the bush-screened log, when they
had so plentifully bestowed their leaden favors upon it. They had been
upon a false scent, all the time. The hated pale-faces were not there,
but had given them the slip, and but for a fortunate discovery would
have crept entirely away and left them in the lurch.

Much in this manner the Sioux reasoned, and then with their thrilling
war-whoop, they bounded after the fleeing scout, eager for his scalp,
though they believed it was the entire party instead of only one. Their
own footfalls prevented them from learning their mistake, by the tramp
of the fugitive.

The red-skin who had acted on the "forlorn hope" also sprung up and
dashed away to join the pursuit. Others dashed by, while the concealed
fugitives held their breath at this strange proceeding.

Castor turned and glided back to join his companions. He was as greatly
puzzled as were the others.

"What is it, Tobe? I thought that sounded like Fred's voice," whispered
Wilson.

"I didn't notice--but the last shot favored his gun mightily. Could it
be him?"

"Mayn't it be a trick of theirs to get us to show ourselves?" suggested
John Stevens.

"It mought--but I sca'cely think it. You see, too many o' them went.
An' they're kerryin' it too fur. Lis'en--you kin hear 'em a-screechin'
'way off thar yit," and Tobe harkened intently.

"What shall we do? Stay here, or try to slip off?"

"Jest as you think best. _I_ b'lieve our plan is to travel. It _may_ be
a trick, an' ef so, we're gone, shore. Ef not, we stand a show. Anyhow,
ef we stay here ontel day, they'll hev us then, easy. But jest as you
say--on'y be quick 'bout it, 'ca'se thar's no time to waste."

"I think we had better risk it," added Wilson, resolutely.

"All right, then. Here goes. I'll show up fust, an' ef they don't
plug me, do you foller. Step as though you was a-walkin' on sleepin'
rattlers, an' don't make no fuss. Ready?"

A murmur gave assent, and then Tobe emerged from his covert, crouching
low down in the shade cast by the bushes, and gliding off from the
fire. Not a sound betrayed the presence of any enemy, and the others
ventured forth, using the same precautions that their leader had taken.

They proceeded thus for full hundred yards, when Castor halted them.
They paused in momentary alarm, but his first words banished their
apprehensions.

"It's all right yit. I on'y wanted to tell you what we must do. We'll
have to take to the hosses, ef the imps hain't found them, or they
hain't broken loose. Then we kin 'ither take the Trace, or cut through
the woods, jest's you think best."

"We leave it all to you. But it's dangerous stopping here so close.
Some of those devils may come back and stumble upon us."

"The more haste the wuss speed, you know. You must wait here ontil I go
an see if the animiles is safe. They may hev found 'em an' left a guard
thar to cut us off ef we tried to git to 'em. You wait here ontel you
hear me whistle; then come on as quiet as you kin."

With these words Castor glided away in the darkness, leaving the little
party to uneasily await the result of his scout. But a few moments of
suspense were they forced to endure; then came the welcome whistle, and
with glad hearts they pressed forward. In a few moments more they were
beside the horses, that still stood as they had been left.

It will be remembered that the Wilson party were yet consulting as to
the best course for them to pursue, at the point where Castor had left
the husband and wife, while he sought for the missing Annie, when the
uproar attending the attack upon the Stevens family broke upon their
hearing. Suspecting the truth, the party had left the horses as they
were hitched, and rushed forward toward the spot, hoping to be enabled
to assist their friends. Thus it is that we find them once more in
possession of their animals.

"Now here's four critters, an' thar's six o' us. Let the wimmen an'
Ed ride--he's the least able to stand a ja'nt afoot. Up with ye--no
talkin', Ed. Ef so be't any one o' us two gits tuckered out, we'll
change 'th you."

In another score of moments the little party were ready for a start.
Tobe Castor led the way, then the horses, and after them came John
Stevens.

By mutual consent the old scout was allowed to direct their course,
and he chose to proceed, for some time at least, through the forest
as being safer than treading in the beaten Trace. He knew that along
it had hastened Dusky Dick and his gang of cut-throats, and felt
assured that they would soon discover the _ruse_ by which they had
been deceived, and thus would naturally turn back to find where they
had lost the trail. By following the Trace, there would be danger of
meeting him.

It was tedious traveling, but it was the road to safety, and the
fugitives bore their hardships with as good a grace as possible. The
spirits of all were gloomy enough, but the hearts of the brother and
sister were sore indeed.

Jennie had told her story, and they knew their parents were both dead.
The blow was a bitter one, and only for the absolute necessity for
their restraining their feelings, in order to preserve their own lives,
both of them would have given way beneath it.

And thus the night wore on. The forest was traversed and left behind
the fugitives, who had placed a full score of miles behind them ere the
light of day came over the western hills.

The eyes of the old scout, who was some yards ahead of the party, roved
keenly and anxiously over the country, searching for what he hoped not
to find; some trace of their enemies. And for a time he was agreeably
disappointed.

They were now in a sort of open prairie, at this point rolling and
uneven. Scattered hither and yon were small clumps of trees surrounded
with smaller bushes and shrubs. The prairie was covered nearly
waist-deep with a coarse grass, thickly mixed with weeds.

To the left of the party, and extending some little distance to their
rear, was a line or chain of hills, rocky and bleak-looking. They were
not far distant at this point, hardly a mile.

"Do you see any thing, Tobe?" asked Wilson, uneasily, glancing at the
guide.

"Yas--a plenty, but nothin' to git skeered at, as I knows on. I don't
see ary a red. Reckon we gi' them the dirty shake last night."

"I hope so. But will it be safe to rest a bit? The women need it, and
so do the animals. A bite of food will do no harm--though we have no
water."

"I don't know but 'twould be best. We must stop some time, an' now 's
jest as good a time 's any. Thar at thet _motte_ yander, we'll stop.
Thar's a good spring, too. So we'll not go thusty," said Castor,
indicating a small clump of timber some few hundred yards before them.

The fugitives were now upon a ridge, whose hight afforded them a fair
view of the country, and while Castor spoke, his eyes were keenly
scrutinizing the prairie beyond. He suddenly paused, with a cry of
angry dismay.

"What is it, Tobe?" cried Stevens, gliding forward.

"Looky yander!--_Injuns, by the 'tarnal!_" hissed the old ranger, as he
extended an arm before him.

Thus directed, the gaze of the party was riveted upon an alarming
sight. And as they gazed, their hearts sunk within them, for they saw
that Castor was right.

Upon a ridge at perhaps a half-mile distance, could plainly be
distinguished a number of footmen, whose wild aspect as their plumed
and ornamented crests rose above the tall, still grass, told they were
indeed savages. Their number could not be much less than a score;
perhaps more.

"Let's get out of sight in the hollow," muttered Stevens as he sprung
to the head of Annie's horse. "Quick! before they see us!"

"Too late--too late, boy!" muttered Castor, his glowing eyes sweeping
around their position. "D'y' hear _that_?"

As he spoke, faint, far-away yells of discovery came to their ears,
borne upon the light breeze. And then the savages were observed to
bound forward toward them, spreading out as if to surround their
intended prey.

"Quick! to the timber--it is our only chance now!" shouted Stevens
excitedly, as he urged the snorting horse forward.

"Back--hold on, boy," cried Castor, a determined expression resting
upon his countenance "'Twon't do--they'd rout us out o' thar in a
minnit. We must try somethin' else."

"But what? My God! man, do you intend to stay here and let them murder
us all?" almost shrieked Wilson.

"No--follow me. Let the hosses went--don't hold 'em in. Keep up 'th me
ef you kill the critters!"

As Tobe spoke, he turned abruptly to the left, and dashed off at full
speed. For a moment the others hesitated, but his decisive action
overruled their doubts, and they hotly followed in his lead.

It seemed a suicidal course, this one of the old scout's, for he was
leaving the friendly _motte_ almost directly behind him, and was
speeding over the rolling prairie toward a point where there was
nothing to be seen save a bare hillside. And after them came the wildly
yelling red-skins, who now seemed confident of their prey, for the
thick, tangled weeds impeded the advance of a horse still more than
that of a footman.




CHAPTER X.

A DOUBLE CHASE.


Fred Wilson little guessed the good his daring course had accomplished
for his friends, or he would not have so bitterly cursed his foolhardy
daring in thus running into such a scrape. But the harm was did and he
could only strive his best to free himself from the dangerous position
it threw him into.

He slung his rifle across his back by the strap appended and thus with
his arms free, he dashed on with renewed speed; though the best pace
one could maintain there in such dense woods, was comparatively slow.
Still it tried one the greater, for a tree-trunk would not be visible
until almost run against, and then a quick, active leap was necessary
to avoid it.

Fred could hear the rush of many feet behind him, and also the
continued signaling of his foes, telling him that a stern race for
life and death was to be the result. And almost unconsciously the
presentiment that had before assailed him, returned with augmented
force.

Still he did not falter or neglect a single precaution by which his
case might be aided. His mind was made up to adopt a bold _ruse_, and
now he strained every nerve to its utmost tension in order to gain the
necessary vantage ground that would enable him to put this plan into
execution.

As he gained the beaten Trace, Wilson turned and dashed down it,
although he would thus lose some ground if his pursuers had spread out,
as he felt assured they had. But then he could place full confidence in
his fleetness of foot, and felt that with a clear road, he could easily
regain the ground thus lost.

Along the path he sped until he reached and passed the still-glowing
embers of his late home. But when about a half-mile beyond this, he
deemed his chance good enough, and pausing beneath a huge tree, he
clutched a low limb and adroitly swung himself up into the branches.
Here he lay still, striving to quiet his hard and rapid breathing, lest
it should betray his hiding.

It was a full minute before the first red-skin passed beneath his
perch, and Fred found that he had gained more ground than he had
supposed. Not noticing the sudden cessation of his footsteps, the Sioux
pressed on at hot speed, little dreaming how narrowly they were missing
their intended victim.

For some time after their passing Fred remained motionless, but then
he stealthily crept up higher until near the tree-top, where he could
remain hidden, even in the daytime, safe from all prying eyes, unless
their owner should take a fancy to climb the tree and make a close
examination; an occurrence that was not at all likely to take place,
as Fred's footprints had, in all probability, been obliterated by those
of the running savages.

For full an hour Fred remained there, but then, hearing no sound of
his foes, he descended, and struck once more into the woods. He had
pondered long and well over his situation, and knowing he could effect
nothing for his friends, owing to his ignorance of their whereabouts,
he had resolved to set out for the settlements, and, if possible, there
raise a force to return and either rescue them, if captured, or avenge
their murder, if dead, as he feared they were.

Before the day broke he had gained the open prairie, and then paused
in a clump of trees, in order to see if the coast was clear for his
further progress, as soon as the sun should arise. To hasten this end,
he scaled a tall tree, and from its top-branches, he eagerly scanned
the prairie, as well as the dim light would admit.

But until the sun had fairly arisen, his search was useless. Then,
however, his heart beat rapidly, and he saw how wise had been his
precaution.

At nearly a mile's distance, he could just distinguish the forms of a
number of human beings. Keenly observing them, he first saw that they
were in the direct Trace, and were approaching him at a rapid pace.
Then he perceived that they were Indians.

Fred hastily descended a few feet to where the limbs were thick, and
then crouched down, his eyes once more bent fixedly upon the foe. The
sun shone full upon them now, and he counted over a score in all.

As they descended into the hollow, he lost sight of them for a moment,
but then they reappeared upon the crest, next to the one upon which
stood the grove he had sought refuge in. The Trace ran within a few
yards of this _motte_, and the young man began to feel apprehensive as
to his own safety.

The savages kept on, and now Fred could distinguish the form and
features of a white man; of Dusky Dick, and his teeth grated fiercely
together as he felt a stern desire to avenge the supposed destruction
of his family upon the renegade. But to do so now would be equivalent
to his own death.

Then the party gained the ridge, and paused; some pointing toward the
_motte_ where the young man was concealed. As Fred anxiously watched
their every motion, he heard them yell wildly, and believed he was
discovered.

Throwing forward his rifle-muzzle, he glanced along the barrel. The
double sights drew full upon the head of the renegade, and only a
slight pressure of the forefinger would have sounded Dusky Dick's
death-knell.

But that pressure was not given, for just then the red-skins, led by
Dusky Dick, turned and dashed down the hillside, with long, loud yells.
In surprise Fred glanced at the further ridge, and a cry of wonder
broke from his lips.

He could quite plainly distinguish another party; these unmistakably
white. He also noted the flowing drapery of women; three in number. And
then the truth burst upon his mind like a revelation.

These were his friends, who had successfully passed through the trials
of that eventful night, only to be again confronted by their bitter and
relentless enemies, when just upon the verge of safety!

As he beheld them turn and flee, Fred hastily descended from his perch,
and then, without thought or reflecting upon the risk he would thus
incur, he dashed down the hill after the red-skins. Fortunately for
him, the entire thoughts of the Indians were turned upon the fugitives
before them, and not a backward glance was given, or else this rash
move would probably have resulted fatally for the young ranger. And
then they gained the ridge and passed beyond his sight.

Before he also gained the crest, Fred's natural good sense returned,
and he proceeded with more circumspection.

He kept tolerably well screened by the tall weeds, while descending,
until the savages were once more hidden from view behind a swell; and
then he dashed on with the velocity of a race-horse. As he gained the
second crest, Fred again paused.

He could still distinguish both parties, and then, as his eyes rested
upon the hills beyond, a glad cry broke from his lips, a bright light
filled his eyes, and after hesitating for a moment, he turned and
dashed at full speed along the back track, his eyes sparkling with a
new-born determination.




CHAPTER XI.

AT BAY!


Tobe Castor led the way at a rapid pace, his tall form making some
fairly wonderful leaps, doubling up in order to carry his long legs
clear of the dense weeds and shrubs. At any other time his queer antics
would have provoked a smile from the spectators, but now they were
entirely too much concerned about their own safety to indulge in such
demonstrations.

Behind them, at less than a half-mile's distance, were a score of
bloodthirsty demons, yelling and whooping in eager exultation, as
though their hands were already upon the coveted scalps, and all
resistance was over. This knowledge, then, was not the most favorable
for awakening a sense of the ludicrous, and the only idea his great
bounds called forth was a desire to keep pace with him.

More than once the old scout was forced to slacken his pace, so as to
avoid distancing the jaded horses, and an uneasy light filled his eyes
as he noted how rapidly the savages were coming up with them, lessening
the intervening distance with every bound. And yet not more than
one-half the distance to the hill had been covered.

"Make haste, Ed--dog-on it, man, _put_ the critters down to it!" he
hissed, impatiently, at one of these slackenings. "Use your knife fer a
spur."

"Where are you going? They're overtaking us fast!" apprehensively cried
the old settler, glancing backward over his shoulder.

"To the hill yander--ef they let us. Use the knife, I tell ye--ef you
don't, we're goners!"

Under the impulse of this novel spur, the horses dashed forward with
considerably-augmented speed, and now the hills loomed up quite near.
But so were the red-skins, who now began sending their compliments
after the fugitives, in the shape of sundry leaden bullets, but as
the Indians feared to pause in order to secure a good aim, lest the
fugitives should thus be able to distance them, there was little to
dread save from some random missile.

Tobe Castor then cried out:

"Foller right on through the openin' thar; then turn to your left,
right sharp."

As he uttered these words, the old scout dashed ahead at an astonishing
rate of speed, and entered a narrow defile or pass, that here cut
through the range of hills. As his comrades could see, he turned to the
left, as he had directed them to do.

With anxiously-beating hearts, the fugitives dashed through the pass,
and then, guided by a loud cry in the voice of their friend, turned to
the left and reached the spot where he was standing.

"'Light--quicker'n thunder! You wimmen run into them bushes thar, an'
lay close. Ed, you an' Jack stan' by me. We'll sicken the imps fer
good, this time!" hurriedly muttered the scout, as he lifted Jennie
Stevens from his horse's back; then striking the animal violently with
his hand, it dashed off at full speed along the hill's foot.

The other two women leaped to the ground, as did Wilson, who secured
the bundle of provisions, half-unconsciously. And this move was
completed none too soon, for the next moment the yelling savages sprung
into view through the pass, brandishing their weapons like mad.

"Now--gi' them your rifles, an' then fall back to the bresh yander.
Ef they foller, let 'em hev your 'volvers," cried Tobe Castor, as his
long, heavy rifle uprose to a level.

The Indians paused abruptly, uttering cries of wondering dismay. Why
this bold stand upon the part of the fugitives, and where were the
women who had so lately been with them? Could they still be fleeing
upon the horses, whose rapidly-retreating hoof-strokes could still be
distinguished?

"_Now!_" hissed Castor, and the three rifles spoke.

Two of the enemy went down without a struggle; a third reeled back with
an arm swinging helplessly at his side. But neither of them was the
renegade; he had not yet put in an appearance.

"Now drap back to the bresh, boys," and Tobe coolly retreated.

Just then Dusky Dick sprung into view, and with a wild yell, urged his
men on. As the borderers fell back, the Sioux dashed ahead, discharging
a few arrows; their firearms had all been long since emptied.

"Gi' them some more," coolly muttered Tobe, as he drew a heavy
revolver, "Colt's Army," carrying a half-ounce ball with the range and
force of a rifle.

And now quick and vicious the reports ring out from the three men
standing there at bay. Chamber after chamber was discharged with fair
effect.

It was not in Indian nature to stand this long, more especially as
they had not the means of returning the compliment. Dusky Dick was one
of the first to fall, and then, missing his voice, his men retreated
to the entrance of the gap, concealing themselves as best they could
behind the numerous bowlders that there skirted the prairie.

"Into the bresh an' load up, boys," said Castor, as he coolly leveled
his second pistol at a wounded red-skin, who was slowly crawling away
from the spot of death.

The revolver cracked, and the Indian made no further motion. Then, with
a grim smile, the old scout also entered the bushes.

A most welcome surprise here awaited the fugitives, with the exception
of Castor. The mouth of a cave was revealed behind the bushes, and into
it the women had already made their way.

This, then, was why Castor had made what had seemed, at the time, a
suicidal move, in not taking to the timber _motte_, and Wilson now
expressed his regret at having spoken so harshly upon that occasion.

"'Taint no matter, Ed. I don't blame you, for it _did_ look a lettle
queer. But it was our on'y chaince, ye see. They'd 'a' cabbidged us
thar, easy; but in here we kin hold our own ontel they starve us out.
This is whar Fred 'n' me killed the b'ar this spring--'member, don't
ye?"

"Yes, but--what's the matter now?"

Castor had turned around to peer through the bushes while speaking, and
then with a bitter curse of angry chagrin he leveled his pistol and
fired. Another curse broke from his lips, as he half-parted the bushes,
as though he would have sprung forth.

"What is it--are they coming again?" and the two men pressed forward.

"No--he's gone, the pesky imp! He was a-playin' 'possum all the time, I
do r'ailly b'lieve! Don't b'lieve he was tetched ary time!"

"Who--what do you mean?"

"Why, Dusky Dick, _in_ co'se. He's gone. I see'd him jest as he was
a-stealin' out o' sight. I sent a snap-shot at the cuss, but didn't
tech him. I spotted him in the fust rush, but he must 'a' dodged
it, an' then tumbled down to make us b'lieve he was dead," somewhat
incoherently added Castor, as he once more resumed loading his firearms.

Though greatly chagrined, the borderers completed re-charging their
weapons, without further comment; meanwhile keeping a close watch upon
the open ground around the mouth of the defile. They felt assured that
their foes were still near, although concealed from sight, and that
they would not abandon the hunt without a desperate effort to avenge
the death of their comrades, several of whose bodies still lay out in
full view, stark and ghastly.

"What do you think they'll do next, Tobe?" queried Wilson, dubiously.

"Mebbe make a rush--but I don't think it. They've hed too good a taste
o' our shooters fer thet. We must look out fer tricks, now; they'll
pro'bly try sarcumvention fust. Mebbe try to smoke us out."

"But can they _do_ it?"

"Not bad, they cain't. Jest step inside thar, an' you'll see. I ain't
so pesky green as to run in a hole thet'd be stopped up like _thet_,"
chuckled the old ranger, grimly.

Wilson stooped low down and entered the rude entrance of the cave, but
it soon enlarged sufficiently to admit of his standing erect, and gazed
curiously around him. It was dimly lighted, but sufficiently so for him
to discern the rocky sides and roof.

It was small; not twenty feet in diameter at the most, and of a rude
circular form. The roof was arched; jagged and uneven, composed mainly
of rock. From several points Wilson could detect a lighter ray than
common, and he knew that there were numerous crevices leading to the
outer world, by which the fresh air could gain entrance, although so
crooked that no use could be made of them to gain a shot at those
within. Thus it would be an utter impossibility for the cave to be
filled completely with smoke, or even sufficient to smother the inmates.

The three women were huddling together upon the rocky floor, at the
further extremity of the den, trembling with apprehension. Wilson
approached them, and tried to relieve their fears by repeating the
assurances of Tobe Castor. At this they brightened up a little, but
only temporarily.

A low whistle from Castor now drew Wilson to the entrance, where he was
cautioned to silence by a finger warningly upheld by the old scout.
Listening intently, the settler fancied he could hear the sounds of
cautious footsteps overhead.

Nothing was to be seen upon the plain beyond, save the dead savages.
All was quiet at the entrance of the defile, but still the besieged
knew that trouble was brewing. And they nerved themselves to meet it as
best they could.

"Ready, boys," muttered Tobe, drawing back a little, until beneath the
projecting shelf. "They're comin' now!"

And the next moment confirmed his assertion, for with loud yells
several dark figures sprung down from the ledge, alighting in the midst
of the bushes. Then, ere they could recover themselves, the affray
began.

The pale-faces had the advantage of a dark background, while their
foes were quite plainly revealed, and as the revolvers began to play
rapidly, wild yells of rage and death agony told how true was their aim.

And then, from the prairie beyond, came the sounds of rushing feet, and
the shrill war-whoop of the savage Sioux, telling of a simultaneous
onset, deadly and determined.




CHAPTER XII.

EXIT DUSKY DICK.


It was a thrilling moment. Death stared the borderers full in the face,
yet they did not flinch. To do so would be annihilation, and full well
they knew that.

The enemy who had sprung down from above, had probably hoped to take
them by surprise, being ignorant of the existence of the cave, and thus
hold them at bay until the others could approach from the defile below,
to deal the finishing stroke. But in this they had counted without
their host, and the ready action of the borderers speedily foiled their
calculations.

Scarcely had the savages regained their feet from the leap, than they
were down again; this time for good. Three revolvers make quick work,
especially when the targets are at barely more than arm's length, and
held by desperate men, who are fighting for their own lives, as well as
those of ones even more dear to them.

Thus before those coming from the defile could reach the bushes, the
first portion of the drama was over. Four dead or disabled forms lay
there; but where were the fugitive pale-faces? They speedily received
the answer to this natural query.

"Back inside the hole, boys," uttered Tobe. "Back, or we're gone! We
must keep 'em from gittin' inside."

And then at the mouth of the cave, but upon either side, where their
bodies were partly shielded by the jagged rocks, although where a shot
could be aimed without, if necessary, crouched the three men, sternly
defiant. And thus, with tightly-compressed lips they awaited the
assault, their rifles and half-empty pistols ready for instant use.

Thus they were, when the savages reached the bushes and parted them.
Scarcely had the enemy time to note the mouth of the cave, thus laid
bare, when a simultaneous report rung out, and three rifle-bullets tore
their way through the living mass.

The Indians staggered and fell back involuntarily, but not until a
second salute was given them. And then, despite the curses of Dusky
Dick, the entire party of survivors turned and fled in dismay, not even
pausing to remove their dead and dying.

The besieged, fearing a ruse, did not emerge, and then Dusky Dick once
more succeeded in gaining cover in safety. And then while one kept
guard, the other two borderers hastily recharged the weapons, that had
stood them in such good stead.

For at least two hours after this signal repulse, not a sound betrayed
the proximity of a foeman, but the old scout knew that the bushes
screening the cave-entrance were under the range of keen eyes, whose
owners would be only too glad of the chance to guide a bullet or an
arrow into any one of the besieged who might chance to expose himself.
And he was too wise to allow either of his comrades to commit an action
that might change the whole situation.

Then there came an interruption. The sound of a human voice was heard;
the voice of a white man, for the words were accented in a manner that
no Indian could attain.

"Hellow thar, you Wilson!"

"It is Dusky Dick," muttered Tobe Castor.

"What can he want? Shall I answer him?"

"Yas--but don't show yourself. 'Twon't do no harm to hear what the cuss
hes to say, as I knows on," slowly returned the scout.

"Hallo yourself! What is it you want with me, Dusky Dick?"

"I want to have a quiet talk with you, and see if we can't come to some
sort o' tarms. Will I be safe if I come out thar? It's too fur away to
talk from here."

"Tell him yas--ef he comes alone," said Tobe, in reply to the glance of
Wilson.

"Yes. Come out, and if you act on the square, you sha'n't be hurt. But
come alone, and mind you don't let any of your red-skinned devils try
to crawl up on us, or you're a dead man. We can see all over from here."

After a few moment's silence, the renegade arose from behind his
covert, and strode toward the cave-entrance. Although he bore weapons,
they were held carelessly, as if not for use.

"Hold on thar, Mister Dusky Dick," called forth the old scout when the
renegade was within a score yards. "Don't come no nearer. You hain't
got the consumption, an' ken talk that fur, I reckon."

"Tobe Castor!" exclaimed Morgan, in a tone of uneasiness.

"Yas--it's old Tobe, fer shore. _You_ know 'im, I reckon," chuckled the
scout, grimly, evidently pleased at this symptom of alarm.

"I did not know you were here, but it don't matter. Who is the head man
among you? You or Wilson?"

"You kin talk to Ed, here. I'll sorter lis'en. Shoot off yer mouth now,
lively, an' then travel. Your comp'ny ain't overly welcome to none on
us. D'y' hear?"

"Then, Wilson," added Morgan, not noticing the insulting tones of
Castor, "what're your terms? You must see there is no use in your
trying to hold out against us any longer."

"Isn't there? Your men didn't seem to think so, a while since, anyhow,"
sneered the settler.

"But we have been reinforced since then. Sloan Young is here with his
band, and--"

"You lie, Dusky Dick, durn ye. You'll never see Young ontel the devil
hes his due. It's _thar_ you'll find him, fer I put a eend to his
trapsein', this very night jest passed," retorted Castor.

What Dusky Dick's answer would have been, was never known, for at that
moment a sharp report rung out from close behind Wilson, and then
with a choking groan the doomed renegade swayed feebly to and fro for
a moment, then sunk in a lifeless heap to the ground, the hot blood
spouting from his left breast.

Quickly turning, the two borderers beheld the strangely convulsed
features of their young comrade, John Stevens, as he glared out upon
the dead man, the smoke still issuing from his rifle-muzzle. There was
a peculiar gleam in his eyes that told he was half crazed.

The reproaches of the old scout died away upon his lips, for the young
settler then sunk back, pale and breathless, his features strangely
distorted. He was in a fit, probably brought on by the terrible trials
of mind, added to the deed of vengeance he had just accomplished.

The Sioux uttered frightful yells of anger at the death of their chief,
but they did not venture forth from their covert. They had already
received a sufficiency of the pale-faces' favors at close quarters, and
had evidently resolved to await the slower but more sure process of
starvation.

It was some little time before John recovered from his convulsion, as
there was no water to aid in his restoration, and then he lay back,
only half-conscious, as weak as a child.

As the time wore on, the besieged began to suffer from want of water.
Their hunger had been appeased, but it only seemed to increase their
thirst. And yet there was not a single drop to be had.

Their prospects looked gloomy indeed, for if they began to suffer thus
early what would they be forced to endure, were they closely besieged,
as there seemed no doubt they would be? Even Castor became gloomy and
despondent.

Thus the hours rolled by, without any demonstrations from the Sioux,
save occasionally a rifle-shot that either flattened harmlessly
outside, or else spent its force against the walls of the cave, without
injury to the occupants.

But when the shades of night fell, the Indians built several fires upon
the prairie, around the besieged, and though at some little distance,
yet close enough to guard against their stealing forth from their
retreat unobserved. They made no attempt to surprise the cave inmates,
and well for them that they did not, for both Castor and Wilson kept
unceasing watch, with weapons in readiness to repel the assault in case
it should come.

But toward morning, when the gray light in the east gave warning of
the coming sun, there arose a fearful tumult without, awakening the
sleeping women, who uttered loud cries of affright. And for a moment
the two sentinels were confused.

But the truth flashed upon their minds. They knew they were saved!

"Hooray! they're jest _more'n_ ketchin' it!" yelled Castor, as he
sprung forth from the cave, uttering his wild war-cry; and then,
closely followed by Wilson, he dashed into the thick of the _melee_.

They were indeed rescued, and by the aid of Fred Wilson. When that
worthy so abruptly turned from the chase, he knew the plans of Tobe
Castor.

He remembered the bear's den, and saw that the fugitives were heading
directly toward it. Here he knew they could stand a pretty tough siege,
and so he resolved to speed at once to the settlements, raise a force
sufficient to rescue them, and return speedily.

He succeeded in reaching Hutchinson, where he told his story, and found
no difficulty in raising a squad of men sufficient for his purpose.
In half an hour after his arrival, he was on the back track, and by
hurrying on at full speed, he arrived in time to surprise the Indians,
the most of whom were sleeping.

The onslaught was deadly, and at most, but one or two of the war-party
escaped to tell the tragic tale. Then the stray horses were hunted up,
and upon these the women and John were placed, when the party retraced
their steps to the settlement.

Dusky Dick had been somewhat premature in his attack, as the general
uprising did not take place for two days after, and the result of that
is familiar to all readers.

Tobe Castor, John Stevens and Fred Wilson did good service in the
cause, and passed unharmed through the ordeal. They found and buried
the remains of the unfortunate settler and his wife, near the ruins of
their former home.

Within a year after the events recorded, there occurred a double
wedding at St. Paul, in which Annie and Jennie, John and Fred were the
principal actors, though an outsider would have thought Tobe Castor
divided the honors pretty equally with them. That he "jest _more'n_
spread hisself," upon the occasion, we have his own word for.


THE END.




DIME POCKET NOVELS.

PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY, AT TEN CENTS EACH.


  1--Hawkeye Harry. By Oll Coomes.
  2--Dead Shot. By Albert W. Aiken.
  3--The Boy Miners. By Edward S. Ellis.
  4--Blue Dick. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
  5--Nat Wolfe. By Mrs. M.V. Victor.
  6--The White Tracker. Edward S. Ellis.
  7--The Outlaw's Wife. Mrs. Ann S. Stephens.
  8--The Tall Trapper. By Albert W. Aiken.
  9--Lightning Jo. By Capt. Adams.
 10--The Island Pirate. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
 11--The Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes.
 12--Bess, the Trapper. By E.S. Ellis.
 13--The French Spy. By W.J. Hamilton.
 14--Long Shot. By Capt. Comstock.
 15--The Gunmaker. By James L. Bowen.
 16--Red Hand. By A.G. Piper.
 17--Ben, the Trapper. By Lewis W. Carson.
 18--Wild Raven. By Oll Coomes.
 19--The Specter Chief. By Seelin Robins.
 20--The B'ar-Killer. By Capt. Comstock.
 21--Wild Nat. By Wm. R. Eyster.
 22--Indian Jo. By Lewis W. Carson.
 23--Old Kent, the Ranger. Edward S. Ellis.
 24--The One-Eyed Trapper. Capt. Comstock.
 25--Godbold, the Spy. By N.C. Iron.
 26--The Black Ship. By John S. Warner.
 27--Single Eye. By Warren St. John.
 28--Indian Jim. By Edward S. Ellis.
 29--The Scout. By Warren St. John.
 30--Eagle Eye. By W.J. Hamilton.
 31--The Mystic Canoe. By Edward S. Ellis.
 32--The Golden Harpoon. By R. Starbuck.
 33--The Scalp King. By Lieut. Ned Hunter.
 34--Old Lute. By E.W. Archer.
 35--Rainbolt. Ranger. By Oll Coomes.
 36--The Boy Pioneer. By Edward S. Ellis.
 37--Carson, the Guide. By J.H. Randolph.
 38--The Heart Eater. By Harry Hazard.
 39--Wetzel. The Scout. By Boynton Belknap.
 40--The Huge Hunter. By Ed. S. Ellis.
 41--Wild Nat, the Trapper. Paul Prescott.
 42--Lynx-cap. By Paul Bibbs.
 43--The White Outlaw. By Harry Hazard.
 44--The Dog Trailer. By Frederick Dewey.
 45--The Elk King. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
 46--Adrian, the Pilot. By Col. P. Ingraham.
 47--The Man-hunter. By Maro O. Rolfe.
 48--The Phantom Tracker. By F. Dewey.
 49--Moccasin Bill. By Paul Bibbs.
 50--The Wolf Queen. By Charles Howard.
 51--Tom Hawk, the Trailer.
 52--The Mad Chief. By Chas. Howard.
 53--The Black Wolf. By Edwin E. Ewing.
 54--Arkansas Jack. By Harry Hazard.
 55--Blackbeard. By Paul Bibbs.
 56--The River Rifles. By Billex Muller.
 57--Hunter Ham. By J. Edgar Iliff.
 58--Cloudwood. By J.M. Merrill.
 59--The Texas Hawks. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 60--Merciless Mat. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
 61--Mad Anthony's Scouts. By E. Rodman.
 62--The Luckless Trapper. Wm. R. Eyster.
 63--The Florida Scout. Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 64--The Island Trapper. Chas. Howard.
 65--Wolf-Cap. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
 66--Rattling Dick. By Harry Hazard.
 67--Sharp-Eye. By Major Max Martine.
 68--Iron Hand. By Frederick Forest.
 69--The Yellow Hunter. By Chas. Howard.
 70--The Phantom Rider. By Maro O. Rolfe.
 71--Delaware Tom. By Harry Hazard.
 72--Silver Rifle. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
 73--The Skeleton Scout. Maj. L.W. Carson.
 74--Little Rifle. By Capt. "Bruin" Adams.
 75--The Wood Witch. By Edwin Emerson.
 76--Old Ruff, the Trapper. "Bruin" Adams.
 77--The Scarlet Shoulders. Harry Hazard.
 78--The Border Rifleman. L.W. Carson.
 79--Outlaw Jack. By Harry Hazard.
 80--Tiger-Tail, the Seminole. R. Ringwood.
 81--Death-Dealer. By Arthur L. Meserve.
 82--Kenton, the Ranger. By Chas. Howard.
 83--The Specter Horseman. Frank Dewey.
 84--The Three Trappers. Seelin Robbins.
 85--Kaleolah. By T. Benton Shields, U.S.N.
 86--The Hunter Hercules. Harry St. George.
 87--Phil Hunter. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
 88--The Indian Scout. By Harry Hazard.
 89--The Girl Avenger. By Chas. Howard.
 90--The Red Hermitess. By Paul Bibbs.
 91--Star-Face, the Slayer.
 92--The Antelope Boy. By Geo. L. Aiken.
 93--The Phantom Hunter. By E. Emerson.
 94--Tom Pintle, the Pilot. By M. Klapp.
 95--The Red Wizard. By Ned Hunter.
 96--The Rival Trappers. By L.W. Carson.
 97--The Squaw Spy. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
 98--Dusky Dick. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 99--Colonel Crockett. By Chas. E. Lasalle.
 100--Old Bear Paw. By Major Max Martine.
 101--Redlaw. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 102--Wild Rube. By W.J. Hamilton.
 103--The Indian Hunters. By J.L. Bowen.
 104--Scarred Eagle. By Andrew Dearborn.
 105--Nick Doyle. By P. Hamilton Myers.
 106--The Indian Spy. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 107--Job Dean. By Ingoldsby North.
 108--The Wood King. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 109--The Scalped Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
 110--Nick, the Scout. By W.J. Hamilton.
 111--The Texas Tiger. By Edward Willett.
 112--The Crossed Knives. By Hamilton.
 113--Tiger-Heart, the Tracker. By Howard.
 114--The Masked Avenger. By Ingraham.
 115--The Pearl Pirates. By Starbuck.
 116--Black Panther. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 117--Abdiel, the Avenger. By Ed. Willett.
 118--Cato, the Creeper. By Fred. Dewey.
 119--Two-Handed Mat. By Jos. E. Badger.
 120--Mad Trail Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
 121--Black Nick. By Frederick Whittaker.
 122--Kit Bird. By W.J. Hamilton.
 123--The Specter Riders. By Geo. Gleason.
 124--Giant Pete. By W.J. Hamilton.
 125--The Girl Captain. By Jos. E. Badger.
 126--Yankee Eph. By J.R. Worcester.
 127--Silverspur. By Edward Willett.
 128--Squatter Dick. By Jos. E. Badger.
 129--The Child Spy. By George Gleason.
 130--Mink Coat. By Jos. E. Badger.
 131--Red Plume. By J. Stanley Henderson.
 132--Clyde, the Trailer. By Maro O. Rolfe.
 133--The Lost Cache. J. Stanley Henderson.
 134--The Cannibal Chief. Paul J. Prescott.
 135--Karaibo. By J. Stanley Henderson.
 136--Scarlet Moccasin. By Paul Bibbs.
 137--Kidnapped. By J. Stanley Henderson.
 138--Maid of the Mountain. By Hamilton.
 139--The Scioto Scouts. By Ed. Willett.
 140--The Border Renegade. By Badger.
 141--The Mute Chief. By C.D. Clark.
 142--Boone, the Hunter. By Whittaker.
 143--Mountain Kate. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 144--The Red Scalper. By W J. Hamilton.
 145--The Lone Chief. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
 146--The Silver Bugle. Lieut. Col. Hazleton.
 147--Chinga, the Cheyenne. By Edward S. Ellis.
 148--The Tangled Trail. By Major Max Martine.
 149--The Unseen Hand. By J.S. Henderson.
 150--The Lone Indian. By Capt. C. Howard.
 151--The Branded Brave. By Paul Bibbs.
 152--Billy Bowlegs. The Seminole Chief.
 153--The Valley Scout. By Seelin Robins.
 154--Red Jacket. By Paul Bibbs.
 155--The Jungle Scout. Ready
 156--Cherokee Chief. Ready
 157--The Bandit Hermit. Ready
 158--The Patriot Scouts. Ready
 159--The Wood Rangers.
 160--The Red Foe. Ready
 161--The Beautiful Unknown.
 162--Canebrake Mose. Ready
 163--Hank, the Guide. Ready
 164--The Border Scout. Ready Oct. 5th.


BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.