It was a long, dreary, wretched day they spent in the cave. Many times they went to the opening where they could look down into the Danite village. Once they saw Uric Dugan, and once they saw Miskel, his daughter.

But the day passed on, and, to their intense relief, they saw nothing to indicate that the captives were executed.

Night came at last.

The boys were eager to be astir. Their blood was throbbing hotly in their veins, and they felt capable of any deed of daring.

They looked to their weapons, making sure everything was ready for business, and then they followed Old Solitary from the cave.

The descent was slow and tedious, fraught with much peril, and long in the accomplishment. To the eager boys, it seemed that they would never get down.

The task was finally accomplished, and then they moved onward, with Old Solitary in the lead.

They had not gone far when a gasp of astonishment came from Frank's lips, and he clutched Barney, softly crying:

"Look up there! What do you make of that?"

Barney looked upward, as directed, and, high in the air, he saw a bright light that was swiftly settling toward the earth.

"It's a shooting shtar, begobs!" exclaimed the Irish lad.

"Not much!" broke from Frank. "That is no star. It looks like a light, with a reflector behind it."

"Well, who knows but thot's th' woay a shtar looks?"

"It is not a star," said Old Solitary; "but what it is I cannot say."

"I know!" cried Frank.

"What is it, then?"

"The Eagle."

"What is the Eagle?"

"An air ship."

Old Solitary gave a muttered exclamation of incredulity.

"Impossible!"

"It is not impossible," asserted Frank. "It was in the Eagle that we came here from Blake."

"Thot's roight," agreed Barney.

Then in a few words Frank told the man of their trip from Blake, how Professor Scudmore had gone mad, and how they had captured the ship from the professor, who afterward escaped and got away with the Eagle in the night.

The boy's apparent sincerity convinced Old Solitary that he spoke the truth, and by the time Frank had finished, the air ship had settled close to the earth. They could see its outlines through the darkness, and could see a man in the car.

The Eagle came down gently, and the man stepped out.

"It was somewhere amid these mountains that I left those poor boys," he murmured. "There is not one chance in ten thousand that I shall ever find them again."

"You have stumbled on that one chance," said Frank, speaking distinctly, and advancing fearlessly toward the man.

"Eh!"

Professor Scudmore seemed on the point of leaping into the air ship and taking to flight, but he suddenly changed his mind.

"Can't get away quick enough to escape," he said. "Have let off enough gas so the ballast brought her down, and I could not throw out the rest of the ballast and get away. If enemies come, I am lost."

"We are not enemies," assured Frank. "We are the boys you left not many miles from here."

"It can't be possible!" cried the lank professor, in the greatest surprise and delight. "Then this is the work of Providence—it must be!"

His joy was almost boundless.

"I was mad at the time," he explained; "I must have been. Otherwise, I'd never done such a thing. I came to my sober senses after a time, and then I resolved to come back here, hoping to find you, but not expecting to."

"Begorra! ye done a great thrick thot toime!" put in Barney Mulloy. "Frankie, me b'y we'll get away in th' 'Agle, an' th' Danite thot catches us will have to have wings."

"That is right," said Frank. "This will provide a means of escape for us, if the professor will take us along."

"I am here to take you along," assured Scudmore.

"But we cannot go till we have done our best to rescue Professor Scotch and Walter Clyde."

"Roight, me lad."

They then explained to Scudmore what had happened to the professor and the boy.

"If my gas generator is all right, so I can inflate the Eagle to its full extent, I shall be able to take four persons with me," said the tall professor. "While you are doing your best to rescue the captives, I will remain here and try to put the ship in condition to sail at short notice."

He seemed perfectly sane, and there was nothing to do but to trust him, and so this plan was agreed to by the boys.

Old Solitary kept in the background, saying nothing.

When everything was arranged, Frank and Barney left the professor, and once more followed the strange man of the canyon on their way to the village of the Danites.

They urged Old Solitary to lose no time, for they were eager to do their best in the effort to save Professor Scotch and Walter Clyde and get away from the canyon.

It was not long before they drew near the pocket, and they advanced with great caution, although it was not thought absolutely necessary, as there was not one chance in a hundred that the Danites would expect them to make such an audacious attempt.

Deep in the canyon the shadows lay thick, which was to their advantage. They succeeded in entering the pocket without being challenged.

Lights twinkled from two or three windows. Somewhere in the village a beautiful but untrained voice was singing the chorus of a love song.

"That is Miskel," whispered Frank.

They lay in the darkness, watching and waiting.

Of a sudden an unexpected thing happened. The door of the very building into which Professor Scotch had been carried was flung wide open, allowing a broad bar of light to shine out. Then, out of this lighted doorway streamed a dozen men, and a bell began to clang in a doleful manner.

"What does it mean?" whispered Frank, wonderingly.

"It means that the tribunal of death has pronounced doom upon the captives," answered Old Solitary. "The session has just broken up, and the captives will be executed without delay."



CHAPTER XXIII.

LAST OF THE DANITES.

"How do you know?"

"I have witnessed other executions here."

"Then no time is to be lost."

"What would you do?"

"I do not know—something, anything to save them!"

Old Solitary held Frank back.

"Do not throw your life away," he said. "Wait a while. See, they are lighting two bonfires, the piles of wood having been prepared in advance."

"What is that for?"

"That there may be plenty of light for the execution, which the entire camp will witness. See, a few moments ago the place seemed asleep, but now it is all astir with life."

"I see," groaned the wretched boy; "and it seems to me that there is very little chance for us to get in there and save Scotch and Clyde."

"Not one chance in a hundred. See those two posts in the full glare of light? Well, to those posts the captives are to be tied. It is plain that the tribunal have doomed them to death by shooting. What a farce!"

"That's right!" grated Frank; "it is a farce! As well might they have killed them in the first place. There was no chance for them to escape."

"Not the least."

"Look, Frankie," whispered Barney, "there comes th' poor profissor, an' Cloyde is clost behindt him."

The Danites were marching their captives out to execution!

In a very few moments the professor and the boy were tied to the death-posts.

Uric Dugan directed the movements of the Danites.

"Where is Miskel?" hoarsely breathed Frank. "Will she do nothing to prevent this?"

"She has done all she could," muttered Old Solitary. "It is probable she was not aware the tribunal was in progress. She will be prevented from interfering now."

And now six men, with rifles in their hands, formed a line in front of the prisoners.

Everything was done with startling swiftness.

Frank Merriwell was trembling with eagerness and excitement, and he appealed to Old Solitary:

"Are we to remain inactive and see this frightful deed? Are we to do nothing now that we are here?"

"We will do what we can," declared the strange man. "The time has come for Dugan's career to end! I feel that I must strike. He shall never give the fatal signal!"

The man lifted his old rifle, and the hammer clicked as he cocked it.

Dugan stepped forth to give the signal, and his harsh voice rang out distinctly:

"Ready!"

The firing squad lifted their rifles.

"Take aim!"

The fatal moment was at hand.

The butt of Old Solitary's rifle came to the man's shoulder. He was resting on one knee, and the weapon was held as steady as the hills. "One!" counted Dugan.

It was the last word he ever uttered, for a spout of flame leaped from the muzzle of Old Solitary's weapon, and the bullet sped on its fatal mission.

Without a cry or a groan, Dugan flung up his hands and plunged headlong upon his face.

There was a wild shriek, and the form of a girl rushed into the firelight. Down beside the fallen man she dropped, lifting his head and staring wildly into his face.

It was Miskel, but she could not save her wicked father, for the aim of Old Solitary had been accurate.

The Danites were thrown into the greatest confusion, and Frank Merriwell held back no longer.

"Come on, Barney!" he shouted.

"Oi'm wid yez!" assured the undaunted Irish lad.

Forward they rushed, each firing a shot as they did so, and adding to the dismay of the Danites.

Straight up to Professor Scotch ran Frank, and, with one slash of a sharp knife he had drawn, he released the man.

Barney did the same thing for Walter Clyde, and the two were set at liberty before the Danites realized what was happening. Then bullets began to whistle around them.

At that moment a wild, strange cry cut the night air, filling the hearts of the Danites with the utmost terror.

It was the war cry of the Navajoes!

A hundred dusky forms seemed to materialize from the darkness, and a hundred savage warriors, deadly enemies of the Danites, came charging into the camp.

Old Solitary had rushed to the side of Uric Dugan, into whose face he glared, as he cried:

"Look, Dugan, look! You robbed me of reason, of memory, of everything I held dear; but I have been avenged, for it was my hand that laid you low!"

"He is dead!" screamed Miskel, and she fainted on her father's body.

"Yes, he is dead!" said the avenger, in a half-regretful tone. "And he never knew who killed him."

Then he suddenly caught up the girl and rushed away into the darkness, with her flung over his shoulder.

How Frank and his companions escaped from that spot without falling before the Danites or the savages they scarcely knew. A dozen times they fancied all was lost. They emptied their weapons, they struck down every one who blocked their way, and they finally succeeded in getting out of the pocket.

That they did so at all was due to the fact that the Navajoes, who had surprised and overcome the guard in the pass, believed they held the only exit from the canyon, which made it impossible for any one to get away, even though they might escape temporarily. If two or three were to escape for the time, the Indians felt that it was impossible for them to get away entirely.

But Professor Septemas Scudmore, with his air ship, was in the canyon, and the boys, half lugging the exhausted Professor Scotch, found him waiting for them, greatly alarmed and excited by the sounds of the battle.

"What does it mean?" cried the lank professor, as the party rushed up. "What is all that shooting and yelling?"

"There is no time to explain now," said Frank. "Get in, everybody, and let's get out of this infernal place as soon as we can! There is not a moment to lose."

"I am bewildered," declared Scudmore. "A moment ago an old man with white hair and beard rushed up to me, bearing a girl in his arms. She had fainted, and he thrust her into the car, telling me to wait for you, and take her away with us."

"It was Old Solitary, and the girl must be Miskel. Is she in the car now?"

"Yes."

"And the man?"

"He is gone."

"It was Old Solitary, sure enough, and he will be able to hide from the savages. We cannot wait for him."

"The Eagle would not carry so many, even if we could wait. I have her inflated, and she is tied down. Get in, get in! We'll throw out every bit of ballast, and make the attempt to rise out of the canyon. It may be a failure, but I think it will succeed, if we can get high enough to strike the strong wind which is blowing above us. We can try."

They got into the car, and the bags of ballast were tossed overboard. Then the ropes were cut, and the air ship rose slowly with its heavy burden.

* * * * *

Four days later five persons were seated in a room in the town of Loa, which is located amid the mountains of Southern Utah. The five were Professors Scotch and Scudmore, and the three boys, Frank, Barney and Walter Clyde.

"Then you are determined to go back to Water Pocket Canyon and the place where the camp of the Danites was, are you, Clyde?" asked Frank.

"I shall not be satisfied till I do so," was the answer. "I must find Old Solitary, if he is living, for I believe he is my father."

"I have thought that such might be the case," said Frank. "In some way he has been wronged by Uric Dugan. He did not seem to know exactly how, but he was sure of it. It was only at times that he seemed deranged, but he did not remember much of his past."

"It would be most remarkable if he should turn out to be my father, whom I have believed dead all these years."

"It would be a miracle," declared Professor Scotch. "But do you know you can find Water Pocket Canyon again?"

"Yes, for I have Ben Barr to guide me. He will take me there."

"Well," said the little professor, "I wish you success, but I would not go back there for the worlds, and I absolutely refuse to let my boys go."

"I suppose we'll have to humor the professor in this instance," laughed Frank. "Our last escapade came near being fatal for all of us."

"You owe your salvation to Professor Septemas Scudmore," declared that individual, importantly. "But for his marvelous invention, the Eagle, you would have fallen victims to untamed savages."

"Begorra, thot's roight!" nodded Barney. "Th' 'Agle is a great birrud."

"It is bound to make me famous the world over, and send my name ringing down the corridors of time."

"But what of poor Miskel?" asked Frank. "She is heartbroken over the death of her father. She knows nothing of the world at large, and——"

"Under the circumstances," said Walter, "I feel that it is my duty to see that she does not come to harm. As long as she wants it, she shall have a home with my folks, if she will accept."

"Be aisy, me b'y!" chuckled Barney, roguishly. "It's a swate purty face she has, an' Oi'm thinkin' ye're a bit shtuck on her."

"Oh, come!" protested Walter, blushing. "I have known her but four days, and——"

"Ye've made good progress, me lad. Oi notice thot you have done firrust-rate comfortin' her. It's an invoite to th' weddin' Oi warnt, an' Oi think Frankie would look foine as th' bist man."

"If the wedding ever takes place, you shall be invited."

The mystery of Old Solitary remains still, for he was never found; although Walter and Ben Barr did make their way into Water Pocket Canyon once more. The ruins of the Danite village were found, also human bones, picked clean by wolves and vultures. No living thing seemed to remain in the vicinity, and the silence and shadow of death hung over the place.

Old Solitary's cave was deserted. It is possible that, after all, the strange man fell a victim to the savages; but it is more likely that, being deranged, he was spared by them, and they made him a great medicine man among them. Perchance he is living with them to-day on the Navajo reservation.

"I think we are well out of that," said Frank, when it was all over. "I want no more of the murderous Danites."

"Humph, I told you to keep off," grunted Professor Scotch. "But you'll soon run into equal peril, I'll warrant."

"No, professor—only sight-seeing in the future."

"And where?"

"Yellowstone Park, the great National reservation."

"Hurro!" cried Barney. "Just the sphot Oi've been wantin' to see."

"Yes, I'd like to see the park myself," said the professor. "We'll be safe there."

But were they? Let us wait and see.



CHAPTER XXIV.

YELLOWSTONE PARK.

"Hurro!"

"What is it, Barney?"

"Boofaloes, Frankie!"

"Buffalo?"

"Sure, me b'y!"

"Where?"

Frank scrambled eagerly to the crest of the ridge on which his friend was perched.

They were in the heart of that picturesque wonderland about the head waters of the Yellowstone River, known as the National Park.

Frank had a camera slung at his back, and for three days he had been trying to get a "shot" with it at a buffalo, having been told there was a small herd of the nearly extinct creatures somewhere in that region.

Neither of the boys had the least desire to kill one of the animals, and a "shot" with the camera at close range would have satisfied them.

And now, in the grassy valley below them, at a distance of half a mile, they could see five of the animals they sought. The creatures were grazing, with the exception of the largest of the herd, which seemed to be standing on guard, now and then snuffing the wind.

The moment Frank saw them he clutched his companion, drawing him backward and down behind some bowlders.

"Pwhat's th' matther wid yez?" spluttered Barney, in surprise.

"If we expect to get near enough to photograph those creatures, we must get out of this right away."

"Whoy?"

"Did you observe the old fellow who is standing on guard? Peer out and you can see him. He is headed this way."

"Pwhat av thot? He can't see us, me b'y."

"He might not see us, but he is liable to smell us."

"At this distance? Go on wid yer foolin', Frankie!"

"I am not fooling; I am in earnest when I say he is liable to smell us. We are on the wrong side of that herd, if so few may be called a herd."

"Whoy on th' wrong soide?"

"We are to windward."

"Not doirectly."

"No, not directly. If we had been, those creatures would be scampering off already. Their sense of scent is remarkable."

"Is it a jolly ye're givin' us?"

"Not a bit of it, Barney; I am in earnest. Their power of sight is not particularly acute, but it is said that they 'can smell a man a mile.'"

"Thin how can we ivver induce th' bastes to sit fer their photygrafs?"

"We'll have to get on the other side of them, and creep up behind that small clump of timber."

"It will take an hour to get round there, me b'y."

"All of that; but I shall be well repaid if I can obtain a picture of some real wild buffalo. What a sight it must have been to behold one of those immense herds which once covered the plains 'from horizon to horizon,' as we are told. Now it is a known fact that there are less than fifty wild buffaloes in existence. A little more than fifteen years ago it was said that about three hundred thousand Indians subsisted almost entirely on the flesh of the buffalo."

"An' is thot roight?"

"It is right, Barney. The hide-hunter has destroyed the buffalo. The creatures were slaughtered by thousands, stripped of their hides, and their carcasses left to rot and make food for wolves and vultures."

"An' wur there no law to stop th' killin' av thim?"

"No. If there had been, it could not have been enforced on the great plains. The railroad, civilization, and the white man's lust for killing, which he calls sport, doomed the buffalo.

"But this is not getting a picture of 'real wild buffalo.' I have pictures of Golden Gate Pass, Fire Hole Basin, Union Geysers, and almost everything else but wild buffalo, and I have vowed I would not leave the park till I had one of the latter. Come on."

He backed from the crest of the ridge and down the slope, Barney following. In a few moments the boys could rise to their feet and make their way along.

Both were armed, for it was not known what danger they might encounter, and wild animals of all kinds were plentiful enough, from the beaver to the grizzly bear, thanks to the very effective policing of the park by two troops of United States Cavalry. Two regiments could not entirely prevent poaching, but two troops were very successful, and the boys had found sections of the American Wonderland exactly as primitive as when the lonely trapper Coulter made his famous journey through it.

Frank and Barney had taken care not to slaughter any of the game they saw, although they had been tempted by wild geese, which were so tame they would hardly get out of the way, and by deer and bears innumerable.

The lads believed in the laws which protected these creatures, and knew that this great game preserve and breeding-ground, if not disturbed, must always give an overflow into Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho, which will make big game shooting there for years to come.

Frank led the way at a swift pace, keeping the ridge between them and the buffalo for a time, and then making use of other shelter.

It was nearly an hour before they came round to the windward side of the herd and began working in upon it.

All at once, with a low exclamation, Frank stopped, shifted his position quickly, and hissed:

"Down, Barney!"

"Pwhat is it, Frankie?"

"Be careful! Look there by the base of that bluff. Can you see them?"

"Oi see something moving. Pwhat is it?"

"Hunters, I reckon."

"Afther th' boofalo?"

"Yes. They are nearer than we are, and they will be taking a shot at the creatures in a minute. It's a shame! If the soldier-police were only here!"

"Nivver a bit do Oi loike th' oidea av seein' thim boofalo shot onliss Oi can do th' shootin'."

"No more do I, and I am not going to stand it! Come on, Barney. We'll get after those fellows. We may be able to stop them before they shoot, and then get a picture of the buffalo afterward. Lively now."

The boys sprang to their feet and went running toward the spot near the base of the bluff, where they had seen men moving. As they ran, they crouched low, holding their rifles at their sides, and taking great pains not to be seen by the buffalo. In fact, they paid so much attention to this that they did not note how near they were to the bluff, till they almost ran upon the very men they had seen moving there.

Then there was a shock and a surprise, for they found themselves face to face with a dozen Blackfeet Indians!

"Howly shmoke!" gurgled Barney, as he came to a sudden halt.

"Jupiter!" muttered Frank, also stopping quickly.

The Indians stared at them, and grunted:

"How, how! Ugh!"

One of them, a villainous-looking half-blood, spoke up:

"What white boys do? shoot buffalo?"

"No," answered Frank, promptly, "we are not here to shoot them, but we want to get a picture of them."

"Pic'ter? Hugah! No good!"

The half-blood was doubtful; he believed they had intended to shoot the buffalo, and his eyes glittered with greed as he noted the handsome rifles carried by the lads.

"Lemme looker gun," he said, stepping toward Frank, and holding out a hand, nearly one-half of which had been torn away by some accident.

Now Frank knew there would not be one chance in a thousand of getting back his rifle if he let the fellow have it, and so he decisively said:

"No, I will not let you look at it. Keep off! The soldiers will have you for killing game in this park if you do not make tracks back to your reservation."

"Ha! Soldiers fools! Half Hand not afraid of soldier. He watch up. They be way off there to north, ten, twenty, thirty mile. No soldiers round—nobody round. White boy lemme looker gun."

Again he advanced, his manner aggressive, and the boys realized they were in a decidedly perilous situation.



CHAPTER XXV.

FAY.

"Th' spalpane manes ter kape it av he gits his hand on it," whispered Barney. "It's murther he has in his oies."

Frank knew well enough that Barney was right, and he had no intention of relinquishing his hold on his rifle for a moment. He fell back a step, lifting the weapon in a suggestive manner, and Half Hand halted, scowling blackly and smiling craftily by turns.

"Hold up!" came sharply from the lips of the boy. "Keep your distance, or you will get damaged."

"Ha! White boy threaten Half Hand! Be careful! Half Hand good when him not threatened; heap bad when him threatened. White boys two; Injuns big lot more. White boys make Injuns mad, then where um be?"

"I have no desire to make you mad, but this is my rifle, and I mean to keep it."

"Half Hand want to look."

"You may look at a distance, but you can't lay a hand on it."

"White boy heap 'fraid. Give gun back pretty quick bimeby."

"I fancy it would be bimeby. No, you cannot take it, and that settles it."

"Mebbe Half Hand trade with boy."

"I do not wish to trade."

"Mebbe Half Hand give um heap good trade."

"Possibly, but that makes no difference."

"White boy fool!" snarled the half-blood. "If um don't lemme take gun, Half Hand take it anyhow, and then white boy no git a thing for it."

This was quite enough to startle Frank, and he sharply declared:

"If you attempt to take this rifle, you will get a pill out of it in advance! That is straight business, Mr. Half Hand."

"Hurro!" cried Barney, his fighting blood beginning to rise. "Av it's foight ye want, ye red nagurs, jist wade roight inter us! We'll give ye all th' foight ye want, begobs!"

The Blackfeet jabbered among themselves a minute, and it was plain that they were not all of one mind. Some seemed to be for attacking the boys, while others opposed it. Half Hand hotly urged them on.

"Fall back," said Frank, speaking softly to the Irish lad. "Be ready for a rush. If they come, give it to them. I will take Half Hand myself. You take the fellow with the red feather. If they kill us, we'll have the satisfaction of getting two or three of them in advance."

The boy's voice was cool and steady, and his nerves seemed of iron. He glanced over his shoulder in search of some place of shelter, but could discover none near by, much to his disappointment.

Barney was also cool enough, although the hot blood was rushing swiftly through his veins. He was holding himself in check, in imitation of his friend and comrade.

In truth, the two lads were in a tight corner. It was plain that the Indian poachers were made up of rebellious Blackfeet, who could not be kept on the reservation, and their faces showed they were the very worst sort. Having been caught almost in the act of killing game within the park, and believing the two lads had no friends near by, the dusky villains might not hesitate at outright murder spurred on by their greed for plunder, lust for blood, and a desire to keep the boys from notifying the soldiers of the presence of Indians on forbidden ground.

Frank fully understood their peril, and he felt that they would be lucky indeed if they escaped with their lives.

He blamed himself for running into the trap in such a blind manner, and still he felt that he was not to blame. He had seen moving figures at a distance, and, as the Indians were keeping under cover, in order to creep upon the buffalo, he had no more than caught a glimpse of them. They were dressed in clothes they had obtained by trade or plunder from white men, and so, at a distance and under such circumstances, it was not remarkable that Frank had not noted they were savages.

In a few moments Half Hand seemed to bring the most of the Indians to his way of thinking, and he again turned on the boys.

"Good white boys," he croaked, craftily. "Don't be 'fraid of Injuns. Injuns won't hurt um."

"We are not afraid of you," returned Frank; "but you want to keep your distance, or you will get hurt by us."

"Thot's roight, begorra!" cried Barney, fingering his Winchester. "It's stoofed to th' muzzle, this ould shootin' iron is, wid grapeshot an' canister, an' av Oi leggo wid it, there won't be a red nagur av yez left on his pins."

"Injuns want to talk with white boys," said the half-blood, edging nearer, inch by inch. "Injuns want to hold powwow."

"We are not at all anxious to hold a powwow with you. Stand where you are!"

Up came Frank's rifle a bit.

It was plain that the red ruffians meant to make an assault, and the moment was at hand. They were handling their weapons in a way that told how eager some of them were to shed the blood of the boys.

Barney, in his characteristic, devil-may-care manner, began to hum, "My Funeral's To-morrow." He seemed utterly unable to take matters seriously, however great the danger.

A moment before the rush and encounter must have taken place, all were startled to hear a merry, childish laugh, and a voice saying:

"I knowed I'd find tomebody tomewhere. I wants to tome down. Tate me down, please."

On the top of the bluff, forty feet above the heads of the Indians, stood a little girl, dressed in white. She had golden hair and blue eyes, and, on her lofty perch, she looked like a laughing fairy.

"Mother av Mowses!" gurgled Barney.

"A child!" exclaimed Frank, astonished. "Here!"

The Indians muttered and hesitated. Half Hand still urged them on, but it was plain that they believed there was a party of white persons near at hand, and they feared to attack the boys. The urging of the half-blood was in vain, and he was forced to give it up.

Then he turned fiercely on the boys, snarling:

"Good thing for you your friends come! They no come, we kill you and take your guns! Mebbe we see you 'gain some time bimeby."

Then the Indians turned and quickly scudded away, soon disappearing from view amid some pines.

Frank drew a breath of relief.

"That was a close shave," he muttered.

"Begorra! It was thot," nodded Barney. "Av it hadn't been fer th' litthle girrul, we'd lost our scoolps Oi belave."

"The little girl!" exclaimed Frank. "She appeared like a good fairy, and——"

"Dat's my name. Mamma talls me Fairy Fay."

She was still standing on the bluff, and she had heard Frank's words. Now she held out her arms to him, crying:

"Tome tate me down. I wants to tome down."

"Get back from the edge, dear," Frank quickly called. "You may fall. We will come up to you as soon as possible."

"Tome wight away."

"Yes, we will come right away."

"I's tired playing all alone—an' I's hundry," said the sweet little voice. "I's awsul hundry. You dot somet'ing dood to eat?"

"You shall have something to eat very soon, if you will keep back from the edge, so you'll not fall down," assured Frank.

He then directed Barney to remain there and watch her, cautioning her to keep back, while he found a way to reach the top of the bluff.

Frank hastened away, looking for some mode of getting there. In a short time, he found a place to ascend, and lost no time in doing so.

When he came panting to the top of the bluff, the little girl was waiting, having seated herself contentedly on a stone, where she could call down to Barney.

Seeing Frank, she held out her arms, crying:

"I's awsul glad you tome! I'll be your Fairy now."

"You have been my good fairy to-day, little one," he earnestly said, as he lifted her in his arms and kissed her cheek. "Without doubt you saved my life."

"Mamma says I's pritty dood Fairy all the time."

"I haven't a doubt of it."

"But I's awsul hundry now. I touldn't find mamma, and I walked and walked, and I falled down and tored my dress, and I dot tired and awsul hundry, and I cwyed some, and nen I 'membered mamma told me it wasn't nice to cwy, and I walked again, and I heard somebody talkin', and I looked down and it was you."

She ended with a happy laugh, clasping her arms about his neck.

"Where is your mamma?"

"Oh, I don't know now," she answered, a little cloud coming to her face. "I touldn't find her. You tate me to her."

"You do not live near here?"

"We live in New Yort."

"New York?"

"Yeth, thir. Dat's a dreat bid place wif lots and lots of houses."

"Then you must be traveling with your mamma?"

"I's trafeling wizout her now. We has had jes' the longest wides on the cars. And we stopped in lots of places, but we didn't find papa."

"Then your papa is not with you?"

"Papa goed away long time ago, and that made mamma cwy. I seed her weadin' a letter and cwyin' awsul hard, and papa didn't tome bat some more. You know where to find my papa?"

"No, little one, I do not; but I will help you find your mother. What did you say your name is?"

"Fay. Tometimes mamma talls me Fairy."

"What is all your name—the rest of it besides Fay?"

"Why, jes' Fairy. I's awsul hundry. Dot a tookie?"

Finding himself unable to learn her full name from her lips, Frank started for the foot of the bluff, bearing her in his arms.



CHAPTER XXVI.

OLD ROCKS.

Barney was waiting, and he drew a breath of relief when Frank appeared with the child.

"Oi wur afraid th' litthle darlint would tumble off bafore ye could rache her," he said.

"But I tept wight away from the edge, same as you toldt me to," chirped Fay, cheerfully. "If I did tumbled, you tould catch me."

"Begorra! Oi wur ready to thry it, me swate."

"You never wanted to see me fall and hurt myself bad, did you?"

"Nivver a bit."

Frank told Barney how much he had been able to learn from her lips, and they were not long in deciding it would be folly for them to attempt to find Fay's mother.

"The guide is the one to do that," said Frank.

"Roight, me b'y. Ould Rocks knows ivery inch av th' parruk."

"Then we had better return to camp at once."

"Sure."

"But the buffalo—I had forgotten them. We have not obtained that picture."

"An' nivver a bit we will this doay, Frankie."

"Why not?"

"Th' boofalo have shkipped."

"Gone?"

"Thot's roight."

"Too bad!"

Frank felt that he must satisfy himself with his own eyes, and so he hastened to a spot that commanded a view of the place where the creatures had been feeding.

Sure enough, they were gone.

"That's hard luck!" he muttered. "Here we have been hanging a whole week in the park just to enable me to get a snap at some of the creatures, and we lost our only opportunity. Well, I suppose we should be satisfied to get off with our lives."

He knew this was true, and so there was reason to be thankful, instead of grumbling.

He returned to where Barney was talking to Fay. The child was anxiously watching Frank's movements.

"You ain't doin' away and leave me, is you?" she asked.

"No, dear."

"I was 'fraid so, and I's awsul hundry."

"An' wouldn't ye go wid me av Oi'd take ye where ye'd get plinty to ate?" asked the Irish lad.

"Him tome, too?" She held out her hands to Frank.

"An' wouldn't ye go av he didn't come?"

"I dess not," she said. "I like you pitty well; but I kinder like him better. Him goin' to find my mamma. I dess him dit me somefin to eat."

Frank caught her up in his arms.

"Yes, dear," he laughed, his heart swelling with a feeling that convinced him he would lay down his life in defense of her, if needs be. "I will find you something to eat as soon as possible, and I will take you to your mother."

"Dat's all wight. I ain't doin' to cwy. You don't like little dirls we'en they cwy, does you?"

"In your case, I do not think crying would change my feelings. Little girls have to cry sometimes."

"I dess dat's wight," said Fay, very soberly.

Frank surrendered his rifle to Barney, who insisted on taking the camera also, and then, with the child in his arms, followed the Irish lad on the return tramp to camp.

It proved to be a long, tiresome trudge, and the sun was setting when the boys came in sight of a white tent that was pitched near a spring of cool water and a growth of pines down in a pretty valley.

Once or twice Fay had murmured that she was "so hundry," but when the camp was sighted, she was asleep in Frank's arms, her head of tangled golden curls lying on his shoulder.

A fire was blazing in front of the tent, sending a thin column of smoke straight up into the still air.

Near the fire, with a pipe in his mouth, was sitting a grizzled old man, whose appearance indicated that he was a veteran of the mountains and plains.

This was Roxy Jules, generally known as "Old Rocks." He was one of the professional guides who make a business of taking parties of tourists through the park and showing them its wonders.

Between two trees a hammock was strung, and another man, a little fellow with fiery-red hair and whiskers, was reclining. Gold-bowed spectacles were perched on his nose, and he was studying a book.

All at once Old Rocks gave a queer kind of a grunt. As it did not arouse the man in the hammock, he grunted again. That not proving effectual, he growled:

"Wa-al, I wonders whut kind o' game them yar kids hev struck now?"

"Eh?" exclaimed the little man. "Did you speak to me? My name is Scotch, as you very well know—Professor Horace Scotch."

"Wa-al," drawled Old Rocks, with a sly grin, "I reckons I has heard them yar boys call yer Hot Scotch enough to know whut yer handle is."

"Those boys are very disrespectful—very! They should be called to account. I object to such familiarity from others, sir—I distinctly object."

Old Rocks grunted derisively, having come to regard the timid little man with contempt, which was natural with him, as he looked with disfavor on all "tenderfeet."

That grunt stirred the blood of the quick-tempered little man, who sat up, snapping:

"I should think there was a pig somewhere round, by the sounds I hear!"

The guide grunted again.

"I detest pigs!" fumed Scotch. "They're always grunting."

"Thar's only one thing I dislike wuss'n pigs," observed Old Rocks, lazily.

"What is that, sir; what is that?"

"Hawgs," answered the guide, with his small, keen eyes fixed on the professor. "Of course, I don't mean to be personal, nor nawthing, an' I don't call no names; but ef you want ter know who I mean, you kin see whar I'm lookin'."

"This in an insult!" squealed the little man, snapping himself out of the hammock. "I'll discharge you at once, sir—at once!"

"All right. Just you pay me whut you owe me, an' I'll leave ye ter git out o' ther park ther best way ye derned kin. You'll hev a heap o' fun doin' it."

The professor blustered about, while Old Rocks sat and smoked, a patronizing smile on his leathery face.

Suddenly Scotch observed the approaching boys, and saw the child Frank carried in his arms.

"Goodness!" gurgled the little man, staring. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, you have jest woke up!" said the guide, continuing to pull at his black pipe. "I wuz tryin' to call your 'tention to thet thar. Whut has ther boy found? An' whar did he find it?"

"You know quite as well as I. It is surprising—very much so!"

Frank and Barney came up, and explanations followed. Old Rocks pricked up his ears when Frank told of the Blackfeet, and how near they came to having a fight with the Indians.

"Is thet onery skunk in hyar again?" exclaimed the guide. "Why, he's wuss'n sin, is ole Half Hand. He'd ruther cut a throat than do anything else, an' ye're derned lucky ter git away. It wuzn't by yer own nerve ye done it, howsomever. Ef ther gal hedn't 'peared jest as she did, you'd both be food fer coyotes now."

"Two or three Indians, at least, would have kept us company," declared Frank.

Old Rocks grunted.

"Yah! I'll bet a hawse you wuz so derned scat ye shivered clean down ter yer toes. Ef ther red skunks hed made a run fer ye, ye'd drapped right down on yer marrerbones an' squealed."

A bit of warm color came to Frank's face, and he said:

"It is plain you have a very poor opinion of my courage."

Barney was angry, and he roared:

"Oi'd loike ter punch yer head fer yez, ye ould haythen! It's mesilf thot's got nerve enough fer thot!"

This awakened Fay, who looked about in a wondering manner with her big, blue eyes, and then half sobbed:

"Where is my mamma? I was jes' finkin' I was wiz her, and she was divin' me somefin' dood to eat. I's awful hundry!"

In the twinkling of an eye, Old Rocks changed his manner. His pipe disappeared, and he was on his feet, saying, softly:

"Don't you go to cryin', leetle gal. You shell have something to eat in abaout two shakes, an' I'll see thet you finds yer mother all right. Ye're a little angel, an' thet yar's jest what ye are!"

Straightway there was a bustle in the camp. Frank sat on the ground and entertained Fay, while Old Rocks prepared supper. The child was given some bread, and she proved that she was "awsul hundry" by the way she ate it.

There was not a person in the camp who was not hungry, and that supper was well relished.

Fay was questioned closely, but no one succeeded in obtaining much more information than Frank had already received.

When she had eaten till she was satisfied, Old Rocks tried to coax her to him, but she crept into Frank's arms and cuddled close to him, whispering:

"I likes you the bestest."

So Frank held her, and sang lullaby songs in a beautiful baritone voice, while the blue shadows settled over the valley and night came on. Long after she was sound asleep he held her and sang on, while the others listened.

Beyond the limits of the camp was a man who seemed enraptured by the songs, whose eyes were wet with tears, and whose heart was torn by the emotions which surged upward from his lonely soul.



CHAPTER XXVII.

THE HERMIT.

At last little Fay was placed within the tent on the softest bed that could be prepared for her.

"In ther mornin'," said Old Rocks, "I'll hunt up her mamma."

The fire glowed pleasantly, being replenished now and then by Barney.

Professor Scotch occupied the hammock, Frank stretched himself at full length on the ground, and the guide sat with his back against a tree, still pulling away at the black pipe, his constant companion. He had smoked so much that his flesh seemed cured, like that of a ham.

At heart Old Rocks was tender as a child, but he had a way of spluttering and growling that made him seem grouty and cross-grained. He seemed to take real satisfaction in picking a quarrel with any one.

Professor Scotch was alarmed by the story Frank had told of the encounter with the Blackfeet, and he was for leaving that vicinity as soon as possible.

"Not till I get a photograph of real wild buffalo," said the boy, stiffly.

Old Rocks grunted derisively.

"I reckon you came as nigh it ter-day as ye will at all," he said. "You've clicked yer old machine at everything from one end o' ther park to t'other, an' I ain't seen nary picter yit."

"They have not been developed."

"Woosh! Whatever is thet?"

Frank explained, and the guide listened, with an expression of derision on his face.

"I'll allow you don't know northin' abaout takin' picters," drawled the man. "I hed my picter took up at Billings last winter, an' ther man as took it didn't hev ter go through no such fussin' as thet."

"How do you know?"

"Wa-al, I know."

"But how do you know?"

"I jest know, thet's how!"

Frank laughed.

"You are like some other people who know everything about anything they don't know anything about."

That was quite enough to start the old fellow, and he seemed ready to fight at the drop of the hat; but, at this moment, something happened to divert his attention.

Out of the darkness stalked a man, who calmly and deliberately advanced toward the party.

"Halt thar!" cried Old Rocks, catching up a rifle and covering the stranger.

The man did not pay the least attention to the command, but continued to advance.

"Halt, or I'll shoot!" shouted the guide.

Still the unknown refused to obey, and, to the bewilderment of Old Rocks, he walked straight up to the muzzle of the weapon, where he stopped, saying:

"I knew you wouldn't shoot. If you had, you could not have killed me. Nothing can kill me, because I have sought death everywhere, and I have not been able to find it. It is he who flees from death who finds it first."

Then he sat down.

"Wa-al, dern me!" gasped Old Rocks. "I dunno why I didn't soak yer; but thar wuz somethin' held me back."

"It was the hand of fate."

The man was dressed roughly, but he carried a handsome rifle. His wide-brimmed hat was slouched over his eyes, so the expression of his face could not have been seen very well, even if it had not been covered by a full brown beard. His hair was long and unkempt.

Having seated himself on the ground, he sat and stared into the fire for some moments before speaking again. Finally he turned a bit, saying:

"Who was singing here a short time ago?"

Frank explained that he had been singing, and the stranger said:

"I don't know why I should wish to take a look at you, for you caused me more misery than I have known for a year."

"Thot's a compliment fer ye're singing, Frankie!" chuckled Barney.

"I tried not to listen," said the stranger; "but I could not tear myself away. What right has a man without a home to listen to songs that fill his soul with memories of home and little ones!"

He bowed his face on his hands, and his body shook a bit, betraying that he was struggling to suppress his emotions.

After a moment, Old Rocks said:

"I reckons I knows yer now. You're the hermit."

The man did not stir or speak.

"Ain't yer the hermit?" asked the guide.

"Yes," was the bitter reply, "I am a man without a home or a name. Some have said that there is trouble with my brain, but they are wrong. I am not deranged. This is the first time in a year that I have sought the society of human beings, unless it was to trade for such things as I need to sustain life. It was those songs that brought me here. They seemed to act like a magnet, and I could not keep away."

Then he turned to Frank, and asked him to sing one of the lullabys over again.

For all of his peculiar manner, the man seemed sane enough, and the boy decided to humor him.

Frank sang, and the man sat and listened, his face still bowed on his hands. When the song was ended, and the last echo had died out along a distant line of bluffs, the man still sat thus.

Those who saw him were impressed. Beyond a doubt, this man had suffered some great affliction that had caused him to shun his fellows and become one "without a home or a name."

All at once, with a deep sigh, he rose. He was finely built, and, properly dressed and shaved, he must have been handsome.

"Thank you," he said, addressing Frank. "I will not trouble you longer. I am going now."

"Look yar," broke in Old Rocks, in his harsh way; "I wants ter warn you ag'in comin' round yere ther way you done a short time ago. It ain't healthy none whatever."

"What do you mean?"

"Jest this: I might take a fancy ter shoot fust an' talk it over arterward. I don't want ter shoot yer."

A strange, sad smile came to the man's face.

"You need not fear," he said. "If you were to shoot at me, you would not hit me."

The guide gave a snort.

"Whut's thet?" he cried. "I allow you hain't seen me shoot any to speak of, pard. I ain't in ther habit of missin'."

"That makes no difference. A man who seeks death cannot die. Fate would turn your bullet aside."

"Wa-al, I don't allow thet I wants ter try it, fer Fate might not be quick enough. Jest you keep away, 'less you hollers out ter let us know when ye're comin'."

As the hermit turned away he happened to glance into the tent, the front of which was still open. The firelight shone in and fell on the face of the tired child, who was sleeping sweetly.

The man paused, staring at the face revealed by the flickering light. His hand was lifted to his head, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet, his face marked by a look of astonishment and pain.

Old Rocks, Professor Scotch, and the boys watched the hermit's every movement with breathless wonderment. They were impressed, they were held spellbound, they scarcely breathed.

For some moments the strange man stood there, and then, inch by inch, step by step, he advanced toward the tent. He seemed trying to hold back, yet there appeared to be some power dragging him toward the sleeping child.

Frank's first thought was that the man might harm Fay, but the look on the face of the hermit told that he had no such intention. Into the tent he crept, and he knelt beside the bed on which little Fay was sleeping, gazing longingly into her pretty face. A sob came from the depths of his broad breast, and, finally, he stooped and lightly kissed the child's cheek. As he did so, the little girl murmured in her dreams:

"Papa!"

The hermit sprang up, leaped away, and, with a low cry of intense pain, fled into the darkness.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

VANISHING OF LITTLE FAY.

For some moments after the strange man had disappeared the guide, the professor, and the boys sat staring into the darkness in the direction he had taken.

"Wa-al, dog my cats!"

The exclamation came from Old Rocks, who had ceased to pull at the black pipe for the time being.

"Thot bates th' band!"

Barney Mulloy could not express the astonishment he felt.

"What can that mean?"

Professor Scotch rose from the hammock, asking the question in a bewildered manner.

"I can tell you what it means," said Frank, also rising to his feet. "It seems to me there is but one explanation. Fay told me her father was not with her mother, that she had not seen him for a long time, and that her mamma cried when he went away. I believe there was some kind of trouble between the child's parents, and that the one who is known as the hermit, who calls himself 'the man without a name or a home,' is the father of that child."

"Wa-al," drawled Old Rocks, "you may be a tenderfoot an' a kid, but yer has a little hawse sense. Ef you ain't right, I'll chaw my boots fer terbacker!"

"It certainly seems that you are right, Frank," nodded the little professor. "The man was drawn into the camp by your songs, he was fascinated when he saw the sleeping child, and he fled, with a cry of pain, when she murmured 'papa.' Yes, it seems quite certain that the hermit is the child's father."

"Ef thet is right, things is comin' round sing'ler," said the guide. "Ef you kids hedn't seen ther Injuns crawlin' up on ther bufferler you wouldn't got inter ther scrape ye did; ef ye hedn't got inter thet scrape ye wouldn't found ther babby; if yer hedn't found ther babby it's likely she might hev starved ur bin eaten by wild critters; ef Frank hedn't sung them songs ther hermit w'u'dn't come inter camp; ef he hedn't come inter camp he w'u'dn't seen ther leetle gal; an' ef he hedn't seen ther leetle gal we'd never suspected he wuz her father."

This was an unusually long speech for Old Rocks, who was given to short, crusty sentences.

"Do you know where this man lives?" asked Scotch.

"Wa-al, I dunno prezactly, but I reckon I kin find him ag'in."

"That is important; he must be found. The mother of this child must be taken to him. In that way a reunion may be brought about. Probably the unfortunate woman is quite distracted to-night. In the morning we will lose no time in finding her and restoring the child to her arms."

For some time they sat about the fire, discussing the strange events of the day. Finally, all became sleepy, and it was decided that they had better "turn in."

As Old Rocks seemed to sleep "with one eye open," they had not found it necessary to have any one stand guard since he had been with them. No wild animal could come prowling about the camp without arousing the old fellow in a moment.

The fire was replenished, the flap of the tent left open, so the warmth might enter, as the nights were rather cool, and the party retired.

In a short time all were sleeping soundly.

Frank's slumber was dreamless, but he was finally aroused by being shaken fiercely.

"Git up hyar!" commanded a snarling voice.

In the twinkling of an eye he was wide awake and sitting up.

"What is the matter?" was the question that came from his lips, as, by the dim light that came from the dying fire, he recognized Old Rocks bending over him.

"Ther dickens is ter pay!" grated the guide. "She's gone!"

"She? Who?"

"Ther leetle gal."

"Fay?"

"Yep."

"Gone?"

Frank was dazed. He looked around and saw Barney and the professor sitting up near at hand, but, sure enough, he could see nothing of the child.

"Yep," nodded Old Rocks. "She ain't in this yar tent."

"But—but how——"

"Dunno how she done it 'thout wakin' me, but she's gone."

"It must be that the Hermit crept in here and kidnaped her."

"Begorro!" cried Barney; "Oi belave thot is roight!"

"It seems reasonable," said the professor.

"Whut d'yer think!" snarled Old Rocks; "fancy I'd snooze right along an' let anything like thet happen? Wa-al, I guess not! Dog my cats ef I know how it kem about, but there gal jest vanished."

"She appeared like a fairy, and like a fairy she has disappeared," said Frank. "But she may be near the camp. We must lose no time in making a search for her."

"Right ye are!" cried Old Rocks, as he led the way from the tent.

Hastening outside, they called to the child, but received no answer.

"Wait a little," advised the guide, as he replenished the fire. "Don't go ter trompin' round yar too much. I wants ter look fer sign."

In this emergency they knew it was best to rely on his judgment, and so they remained quiet, watching his movements.

Having started up the fire, the guide began looking for "sign." His eyes were keen, and it did not take him long to find what he sought.

"Hyar's whar she left ther tent," he declared.

The others looked, but the ground told them nothing.

"That's foolishness," said Professor Scotch, sharply. "You don't mean to say you can see anything here?"

"Wa-al, thet's whut I mean. You're a tenderfut, an' so yer can't see anything. She wuzn't carried off."

"It is not likely she went away alone."

"Likely or not, thet's whut she done."

Bending low, Old Rocks followed the trail as far as the light of the fire reached.

"I reckon I kin torch her," he muttered.

"What do you mean by torching her?" asked Scotch.

Old Rocks made no answer, but returned to the little pile of fuel he had accumulated. This he quickly pulled over, selecting several sticks. He thrust the end of one into the flames, and, in a few moments, had a lighted torch.

"Git yer guns," he directed, "an' come erlong with me."

They did so, with the exception of the professor, who never touched a weapon if he could avoid it. However, he followed the others, and Old Rocks quickly took up the trail once more.

Frank was filled with anxiety for the safety of little Fay. He wondered greatly that the child should arise and creep from the tent without disturbing any one, and then flee into the darkness, but he did not doubt that Rocks had read the sign correctly.

It almost seemed that the guide was able to follow the trail by scent, for he moved swiftly, bending low, and holding the torch close to the ground.

In vain Frank looked for a footprint. The ground did not seem soft enough to yield such a mark, and still Old Rocks seldom hesitated a moment.

Along the valley they went, stringing out one after the other, their hearts throbbing with anxiety.

In this manner they proceeded at least half a mile, and then they came to a stretch of timber. The trail led straight into the woods.

Old Rocks growled and shook his head, and it was plain that he was quite as anxious as any of them.

For a moment they paused on the border of the strip of woods, while the guide got down on his hands and knees and closely inspected the trail.

"Was she alone when she reached this spot?" asked Frank.

Old Rocks nodded.

"It's ther dernedest thing I ever heerd of!" he grumbled. "How a little babby like thet should git up o' her own accord and go prowlin' off inter ther night gits me."

"It is ridiculous," said Professor Scotch. "Such a thing never happened before, and I can't believe it happened on this occasion. Why, she would have been frightened out of her senses. Somebody must have lured her away. That man you call the Hermit must have done it, and I will wager something she joined him as soon as she left the tent."

The guide gave a snort.

"Thet's enough to say I'm a derned fool! Ef ther babby left a trail, you will allow ther man must hev done ther same."

"Of course he did."

"Wa-al, looker yere. Hyar's a bit o' soft ground, an' you kin see whar she crossed over, but I'll be derned ef you kin see any track but ther ones she made."

He held the torch for them to examine the ground, and the tracks left by the child were plainly visible. It was true that she had passed into the timber alone.

"There's a mystery about this that I cannot understand," murmured Frank.

"It looks loike she wur a sure enough fairy," said Barney. "Av not thot, thin this is th' Ould Nick's oun worruk!"

At this moment all were startled by a cry that came from the timber—the cry of a child, broken and smothered.

Old Rocks straightened up, and the light of the torch fell on four pale, startled faces.

"Something has happened to her!" panted Frank. "Forward, man, forward! She may have been attacked by a wild beast!"

In another instant the guide was striding swiftly along the trail, making it necessary for the others to run in order to keep up with him.

They penetrated the timber for a considerable distance, and then, of a sudden, Old Rocks stopped short, stooping low to stare at the ground, grinding an exclamation of dismay through his teeth.

"What is it?" demanded Frank fearing the worst.

After a hasty survey of the ground, the guide replied:

"Injuns! Ther leetle gal has been ketched by ther p'izen varmints, sure as shootin'!"



CHAPTER XXIX.

FACE TO FACE.

"Th' saints defind her!" cried Barney.

"Indians?" panted Frank. "Are you sure?"

"Wa-al, I reckon! Hyar's ther marks. See them hoof prints thar. Notice they toe in. Thet is Injun sign."

"I—I think we had better return to the camp at once," fluttered Professor Scotch.

"Not much!" exclaimed Frank, fiercely. "If she has fallen into the hands of those red wretches, we must follow them and rescue her."

Old Rocks nodded.

"You talk all right, youngster; but I reckon yer sand would ooze out on a pinch. All ther same, we must foller ther skunks."

"Go on!" came from Barney. "Begobs! we'll show yez av we've got sand!"

"But I am not feeling well," protested the professor.

"Then ye'd better go back," snarled Old Rocks. "You'll be more bother then good, anyhow."

"I—I can't go back through the darkness. I should lose my way. You must accompany me to the camp."

"An' waste all thet time? Wa-al, I ruther guess not! Time is too valuable just now."

"This is a terrible scrape!" fluttered Scotch. "I expect we'll all be killed before we get out of it!"

The guide seemed to hesitate, casting a sidelong look at the professor, as if he longed to get rid of the man in some way, but did not know how.

"I kin do as much erlone as I kin with ther hull o' yer," he finally said. "I reckons ye'd best all go back."

"I guess not!" cried Frank. "I am with you through thick and thin! You will remember that I found the child, and she called herself my fairy. It is my duty to help rescue her."

"Wa-al, I 'lows ye'll stick ter thet," growled Old Rocks; "an' so I'll hev ter take yer erlong."

"An' Oi'm wid him, begobs!"

But the guide would not agree to that.

"Somebody's got ter go back ter camp an' look out fer things," he said. "I reckons you an' ther professor is ther ones."

Barney groaned.

"Profissor, can't yez go alone?" he asked. "It's nivver a chance have Oi had ter take a hand in a bit av a ruction loately, av ye will except th' chance Oi had th' doay."

But Professor Scotch had no fancy to return through the darkness to the camp, and he insisted that Barney should accompany him. The Irish boy was forced to succumb, and he parted from Frank with the utmost reluctance and regret.

"We have fought an' bled togither," he said, "an' it's harrud to be parruted loike this."

In a short time Barney and the professor were returning to the camp, while, with Frank Merriwell at his heels, Old Rocks again took up the trail.

Frank marveled at the swiftness with which Old Rocks swung over the ground.

Through the timber they made their way, and then through a narrow ravine, and four or five miles had been covered before the guide paused to speak.

"They're makin' straight fer ther lake," he said. "I don't like that."

"Why not?"

"Ef ther p'izen varmints has canoes—wa-al, we won't be liable ter foller 'em farther than ther lake."

"That is true. We will hope they have no canoes."

Onward they went once more, Old Rocks having lighted a fresh torch, which left but one remaining.

The night was on the wane. Already the sounds of the middle night were hushed. The owls had stopped their hooting, and now, on noiseless wing, were making their last hunting rounds before day should come.

Afar on the side of a mountain a wolf was howling like a dog baying to the moon. The stars which filled the sky seemed to prophesy of dawn.

Bending low, now and then swinging his torch to fan it into a stronger flame, Old Rocks almost raced along the trail, while the boy at his heels kept close.

They were like two tongueless hounds upon a hot scent.

And thus they came, at last, to the lake.

Not a word did Old Rocks say for several minutes, but he moved up and down the shore, reading the "sign," while his companion waited with the greatest anxiety.

At length, with a grated exclamation of rage and dismay, the man flung himself on the ground.

"It's jest as I feared," he growled. "Ther onery varmints hed canoes hid hyar, an' we kin trail 'em no farther."

"Then what can we do?" fluttered the discomfited boy.

"Northin' but wait fer daylight."

Now on the still air very faintly was heard a distant tone of music; a sweet whistle, at first low, rising and falling, and then gradually becoming more distinct. It came nearer and nearer till it seemed to fill the air all about, and then, looking upward, they saw dark forms flitting between them and the stars.

The wild ducks were flying.

The musical note passed on, receded, grew fainter and fainter, till, at last, it died out in the distance.

From the lake came a far-off trumpet call, and then another—the mellow note of the wild geese.

The world was awakening; the day was near.

The stars were growing paler now. In the eastern sky was a bit of gray, which slowly broadened, pushing upward and blotting out the stars.

Where all before was dark, the morning twilight began to show the black forms of things.

The outlines of tree trunks could be seen, and they seemed to stand like ghosts, reaching out shadowy arms, as if feeling their way through the dimness.

The birds which through the long night had slept in the low bushes were beginning to chirp and flutter.

All at once, Old Rocks started and clutched Frank's arm.

"Listen!" he whispered.

The sound of footsteps told them some one was approaching.

"Back!" whispered the guide, leading the way. "We must see who ther critter is, an' he musn't see us."

Hastily they drew into the deep shadows, holding their rifles ready for use in case they should need them.

Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, and then the dark figure of a man appeared, advancing through the dusky darkness.

The man was alone, and he halted on the shore of the lake, within a short distance of the crouching man and boy. They saw him bow his head on his breast and stand there in silence.

Several minutes passed. At last, the unknown lifted his head, stretched out his arms, and uttered a long, mournful cry that seemed to come from a breaking heart.

Old Rocks rose and glided swiftly and silently toward the stranger, who did not hear him approach. The guide's hand dropped on the man's shoulder, and he said:

"Hello, Hermit. Whatever be yer doin' hyar?"

The strange man turned, and Frank saw that it was indeed the Hermit of the Yellowstone.

"Doing?" he said, hoarsely. "I am seeking rest—seeking rest! I'll never find it till I rest in the grave!"

"You must hev a derned bad liver, or somethin' o' ther sort," sneered Old Rocks. "I don't understand a critter like you none whatever."

"I do not expect you to understand me. You do not know my story. If I were to tell you——"

"We ain't got time ter listen; but I'll tell you a leetle story. You know ther babby-gal whut yer saw at our camp?"

The hermit bowed, and then, as if a suspicion of the truth had flashed over him, he fiercely grasped the guide with both hands, hoarsely demanding:

"Has anything happened to her? Tell me—tell me quick!"

With a few well-chosen words, Old Rocks told exactly what had happened. The hermit seemed overcome with horror and dismay.

"She must be saved!"

"You're right; but how wuz we ter foller ther red varmints 'thout a canoe. Now they hev got clean away."

"I will find her!" cried the hermit, with one hand uplifted, as if registering a vow. "I will find her and restore her to—hold! How did she happen to be with you?"

A further explanation was in order. Frank told how Fay had appeared in time to save himself and Barney from being attacked by Half Hand and the Blackfeet, what she had told them, how they had taken her to the camp, and how Old Rocks had agreed to find her mother with the coming of another day.

The guide and the boy believed the Hermit must be little Fay's father, and they watched him closely as he listened. When Frank had finished, the strange man eagerly asked:

"Her name—her full name—did you learn it?"

"No. She told us her name was Fay, and that her mother sometimes called her Fairy Fay; but we were unable to learn her last name."

"From whut we saw in ther camp, we allowed as how it wuz likely you hed seen ther babby afore, an' you knowed her proper name," insinuated Old Rocks.

The Hermit did not answer the implied question.

"Come," he said, "follow me. I have a canoe."

"I s'pose we can't do any wuss," mumbled Old Rocks; "though I don't prezactly know how we're goin' ter trail them critters through ther warter."

The Hermit moved along at a swinging stride, and they followed him through the morning twilight.

Less than half a mile had been covered when the man in advance suddenly paused, uttering an exclamation of surprise.

Straight ahead, amid the trees of a little grove on the shore, they beheld the snowy outlines of a tent.

In a little park beyond the camp could be seen the dusky outlines of horses feeding. Close to the open flap of the tent two dogs were curled, both sleeping soundly, so silent had been the approach of the trio.

The light in the eastern sky was getting a pink tinge, and, with each passing moment, objects could be seen more distinctly.

A tiny column of blue smoke rose from the white ashes of the camp-fire, telling that a brand still smoldered there.

There was a stir within the tent. There were muffled grunts, a yawn or two, the rustle of clothing, faint sounds of footsteps, and then the flap of the tent was flung wide open, and a man came out into the morning air. He paused and stretched his limbs, standing so the trio obtained a fair view of him.

With a sudden, hoarse cry, the Hermit rushed forward and confronted the man.

"Foster Fairfax!" he shouted, with savage joy; "at last we are face to face!"



CHAPTER XXX.

SEARCH FOR THE TRAIL.

"Preston March!"

The man who had just stepped out of the tent fell back, a look of astonishment, not unmingled with fear, on his face.

"Yes, Preston March!" cried the Hermit. "You know me, and I know you, treacherous friend, base scoundrel that you are!"

The man called Foster Fairfax lifted his hands, as if to ward off a blow.

"Preston, it was a mistake—a fearful mistake."

"For you—yes! I have sworn by the heavens above to have your life if fate ever threw you across my path. I shall keep that oath!"

"I expect it."

"Then draw your weapon, and defend yourself! I shall not murder you in cold blood. Draw, draw!"

"No! Shoot, if you will! I'll never lift a hand against you."

"Coward?"

The Hermit was quivering with fury, while the face of the other man was still ghastly white.

Other men came from the tent, rubbing their eyes, all of them very much surprised. One of them attempted to intervene.

"Here!" he cried, addressing the Hermit; "what do you mean by coming into this camp and raising such a row? Are you insane? You are not going to do any shooting here!"

Old Rocks strode forward, Frank Merriwell at his heels.

"I'll allow as how the Hermit has fair play," said the guide, grimly. "He ain't alone in this yar deal."

"Who are you?" demanded the man, haughtily. "Are we to be assailed by a band of desperadoes?"

"None whatever. I'm hyar ter see fair play. I'll allow thar's some deeficulty atwixt these yere gents, an' ther Hermit feels like settlin' right now an' yere."

"It is an outrage! You have no right to come here and make trouble. Fairfax, if that ruffian touches you——"

Foster Fairfax motioned the speaker to be silent.

"This man is not a ruffian," he declared, speaking as calmly as possible. "There is a misunderstanding between us. I have wronged him, and he has a right to seek satisfaction."

The man's companions were astonished by his words. They looked at him in a dazed way.

Even the Hermit seemed a trifle surprised, but he said:

"It is true, and I demand satisfaction. Draw and defend yourself, Fairfax!"

"No; you have not wronged me. Here, March—here is my heart! Shoot! You cannot miss it at this distance."

Preston March, the Hermit of Yellowstone Park, half lifted the weapon which he had drawn. Then he fell back a step, hoarsely saying:

"Would you put a curse upon me by making me a murderer? You have a weapon. Draw it, and we will play fair and even. It shall be a duel to the death at twenty paces. One of us shall die! The other can go back to——"

"Hold! Speak not the name here! I tell you, Preston, there was a blunder—a frightful blunder. If you will listen——"

"You will tell me a mess of lies. A man who would deceive his best friend as you deceived me would not hesitate to lie with his last breath!"

"You shall judge if I lie. If you demand that I meet you, I demand that you first listen to my explanation."

"If I must——"

"On no other condition will I meet you."

"But there are others to hear. Will you speak before them?"

"No. Come aside where no one but ourselves may hear."

The Hermit bowed, and they walked away, keeping several feet apart.

"Wa-al," drawled Old Rocks, "we don't seem ter be in thet none whatever, an' so we'd best make ourselves easy."

He flung himself down upon the ground, produced his black pipe and a plug of tobacco, and began preparing for a smoke, whittling off the tobacco with his bowie-knife.

The campers drew aside and talked among themselves, regarding their uninvited visitors with suspicion, which did not disturb the guide at all.

Frank was restless. He walked up and down, keeping his eyes on Fairfax and the Hermit, who had halted at a distance and were talking earnestly.

In the east the streaky clouds had flushed to a deep red and paled again to richest gold. To the west the mighty mountains which rose beyond the lake were wrapped in garments of rose. The light of day had spread itself over all the heavens, and the sun was shooting glittering glances above the horizon.

The campers began to move about. Wood was piled upon the ashes where the last embers of the old fire still smoldered, and the crackling of a match was followed by a blaze.

Some of the campers prepared breakfast, while one of them approached Old Rocks, whom he questioned concerning the Hermit.

"Yer know purty derned nigh ez much 'bout him ez I do," grunted the guide. "All I know is thet he's bin hyar in ther park fer ther last y'ar ur so. Some galoots has said as how he wuz cracked in ther upper story, but I'll allow thet's a mistake. Yer heard t'other gent admit thet he'd done the Hermit a crooked turn, an' I reckons thet's whut makes ther Hermit whut he is. Now I've tol' yer whutever I know 'bout ther Hermit, mebbe ye'll give me a few p'ints 'bout t'other gent?"

"We know nothing in particular of him, save that he seems to be a man of leisure and means, rather melancholy, given to fits of despondency, followed by spells of wild hilarity."

A queer look came into the guide's eye, and he asked:

"How much o' it does he drink a day?"

"How much what?"

"Hilarity. Does he kerry it in quart bottles, or by ther gallon?"

"He does drink at times," admitted the camper; "but he declares that he hates liquor, and I believe him. He seems to take it to drown memory."

"Wa-al, he may drown memory fer an hour ur so, but he'll find it comes back a derned sight harder when he lets up on drinkin'."

Rocks lighted his pipe, settled himself into a comfortable position, and began to smoke.

The fire was burning brightly, and a blackened coffee-pot was brought forth. As soon as there were some coals, the pot was placed upon them, and it soon began to simmer and send forth a delightful odor, making Frank ravenously hungry.

Old Rocks was hungry, but he showed no symptom of it, smoking on indifferently, all the while keeping an eye on the Hermit and Fairfax.

Frank offered to pay for something to eat and a cup of coffee; but the campers declined to take anything, telling him he was welcome. They then offered Old Rocks something, and the guide accepted gracefully.

For nearly an hour the Hermit and Foster Fairfax talked. The manner of both became subdued, and the strange man of the park seemed to have lost his desire to meet Fairfax in a deadly encounter.

All at once they parted, and the Hermit hurried away, while Fairfax walked back toward the camp.

Old Rocks shouted to the Hermit, but the man paid no heed to the call.

"Come, youngster," said the guide, getting on his feet and picking up his rifle. "We'd best foller thet critter. He said he hed a chance, an' thet wuz whut we wuz arter."

Frank thanked the campers for their hospitality, and then hastened after Old Rocks, who was striding away after the Hermit, who had already vanished from view.

"Whatever's got inter ther man?" growled the guide. "He seems ter hev clean fergot we're on earth."

For at least a mile Old Rocks followed on the trail of the Hermit, and it finally ended at the shore of the lake, where it was seen that the man had taken a canoe.

And far out on the lake he was paddling swiftly away.

Putting his hands to his mouth, the guide sent a call across the water:

"Oh, Hermit!"

The man paddled on without looking back. Rocks repeated the cry several times, but without apparent effect, and then gave up in disgust.

"I'll allow this is onery!" he growled, as he sat down and lighted his pipe once more. "Dog my cats ef it ain't!"

Frank was disheartened.

"Poor little Fay!" he murmured, sadly. "What will become of her?"

"We'll find her," declared Old Rocks, grimly. "We'll find her ef we hev ter tramp clean round this yar lake ter strike ther trail o' them p'izen Blackfeet!"

"Do you think we can ever find their trail?"

"Wa-al, I'll allow! Ain't we got ter find 'em? Ain't they got ter come ter shore somewhar? You bet yer boots! Old Rocks is on ther warpath, an' ther measly varmints want ter look out!"

The guide seemed very much in earnest, which gave Frank fresh hope. The boy was ready to spend any length of time in the search for the missing child.

Having smoked and meditated a short time, Old Rocks arose.

"Come," he said, and he struck out once more.

Along the shore they went, the eyes of the guide always searching for the trail. Sometimes they were forced back from the water by steep bluffs and precipices, but the guide missed no places where the Indians could have landed.

It was about midway in the forenoon that the trail was struck. The canoes were found craftily concealed, and in the soft ground near the lake were the imprints of tiny feet.

"Thar!" cried Old Rocks, looking at the marks; "thet shows we ain't on a wild-goose chase. Now we don't hold up none whatever till we overtakes ther p'izen skunks an' rescues ther gal. You hear me!"



CHAPTER XXXI.

A FIGHT WITH GRIZZLIES.

Frank found Old Rocks a hard man to follow, and the guide was amazed by the endurance of the boy.

It was long past midday when Rocks sat down on a fallen tree, and filled his pipe.

"Say," he drawled, surveying his companion, "you beat all ther tenderfut kids I've ever seen, dog my cats ef you don't!"

"How is that?" asked Frank, who was glad to have a few moments' respite. "What do you mean?"

"Wa-al, I hev bin expectin' all along as how you'd peg out, but I'm derned ef you don't seem fresh as a daisy now!"

"Oh, I am good for a few miles more," said the boy, smiling.

Rocks nodded.

"Thet's whatever. You've got buckram; but I know yer ain't got sand. Tenderfeet never has any."

"I don't suppose you have ever found any exceptions?"

"Derned few! Now I've got somethin' ter say."

"Say it."

"It's plain these yar red varmints are makin' a run fer it, kinder thinkin' they might be follered. It's liable ter be several days afore they're overtook."

"Well?"

"Wa-al, we ain't fitted fer such a tramp."

"What's that?" cried the boy in dismay. "You do not think of giving it up, do you?"

"Nary bit; but I kinder 'lowed you might feel thet way."

"I guess not!"

"Stiddy! Don't be too quick. Wait till I tells yer whut yer may expect."

"Go ahead."

"Jest ez long ez I'm on this yar trail I shell keep up ther pace I hev bin makin' this day su fur."

"That is good."

"Huah! Think yer kin stan' it, eh? Wa-al, thet ain't all."

"Give us the rest of it."

"It'll be a case o' sleepin' in ther open, 'throut kiver, eatin' w'en yer kin, an' gittin' anything we kin shoot an' havin' it hafe cooked ur not cooked at all, an' lots o' other inconveniences thet'll make yer long fer ther comforts o' home."

"And you fancy I'll not be able to stand it?"

"I kinder 'lowed it'd be hard on a tender kid like you be."

Frank had flung himself on the ground, but now he arose and faced the guide, speaking firmly and calmly:

"Rocks, you heard the child say she'd be my fairy, you saw that she took to me, I sung her to sleep, and she clung to me. I will tell you now that I am ready to go through anything for Fairy Fay. She is in terrible danger. If she is not rescued, her fate is frightful to contemplate. I shall never rest till she is saved! I want to go along with you; but I shall continue the hunt alone, if you will not have me."

The old fellow grunted sourly, and puffed away at the black pipe for some moments. At last, he got upon his feet and held out his hand to Frank.

"Put ther thar!" he cried. "You talk all right; we'll see how yer pan out. You kin go erlong."

They shook hands, and Frank was well satisfied.

"You stay right yere by ther trail," directed the guide. "I'm goin' over yon a piece ter see ef thar is some mud geysers down thar. It's been some time sence I wuz in this yar part o' ther park, an' I wants ter git my bearin's. I'll be back yere directly, an' you kin be restin' meantime."

Frank felt like demurring, but he believed it best to do exactly as the guide directed, and so he nodded and sat down again, while Old Rocks strode away and soon disappeared.

Nearly thirty minutes passed, and then, of a sudden, the boy was startled by the report of a rifle, the sound of the shot coming from the direction in which the guide had disappeared.

"I wonder what it can mean?" speculated Frank.

He was uneasy. He knew the guide might have fired at some kind of small game, but for some reason he fancied such was not the case.

Was Old Rocks in trouble?

Catching up his rifle, Frank started on a run in the direction taken by the guide.

Down into the valley he went, his eyes wide open. Suddenly, a short distance before him, there was a hissing, rushing roar, and a column of mud and water shot into the air.

There were the mud geysers Old Rocks had started out to look for.

Toward the geyser hurried Frank, still looking for his companion.

Before the column of mud and water had ceased shooting into the air, Frank came upon a startling spectacle.

Not far from the geysers Old Rocks was engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter with a huge grizzly bear!

On the ground near by lay the body of another bear, telling how accurate had been the guide's first shot.

The guide was using his bowie knife, which was already stained with blood to the hilt.

Frank did not hesitate about rushing straight toward the battling man and beast, and Old Rocks saw him coming.

"Keerful, boy!" panted the man; "keerful with thet thar rifle! Don't shoot yere, fer yer might bore me."

"I won't hit you," promised Frank. "I will shoot the bear."

"You don't know whar ter put yer lead, an' yer might fire a dozen bullets inter this varmint 'thout finishin' him."

It was evident that the old man was badly winded.

Thus far he had avoided the bear's hug, but he could not hold out long. Barely had he uttered the last words when, with a sudden blow of one paw, the grizzly struck him to the ground.

Frank rushed in, seeing the monster settle on all fours over Old Rocks.

"I'll fix him!" grated the boy, as he thrust the muzzle of his rifle almost against bruin's head and pulled the trigger.

For the first time on record the weapon missed fire.

With a fierce growl, the bear whirled and knocked the rifle out of Frank's grasp.

In a dazed manner, Old Rocks saw everything.

"Ther kid's a goner!" thought the guide. "We're both done fer!"

Out Frank snapped a revolver, and then, taking a step toward the bear, he fired five bullets into the creature in marvelously rapid succession.

A roar came from the bear's throat, and the beast reared on its hind feet, its jaws dripping blood and foam, and rushed upon the dauntless boy.

Frank flung aside the revolver, just as Rocks struggled to a sitting posture, thickly crying:

"Run, kid! run fer yer life!"

"Not much!" came through Frank's set teeth. "Think I'd run and leave you to the bear! I guess not!"

"Dog my cats!" murmured the guide, weakly.

The bear, dripping blood from its many wounds, still fierce as a raging tiger, came at Frank. The boy dodged, managed to avoid the rush, and gave the beast a wicked stab with the knife.

"Dog my cats!" murmured the dazed guide once more.

Frank Merriwell's face bore a look of fearless determination, and he was ready for the bear to charge again.

It came.

Frank tried to repeat the trick, slipped a bit, saw he could not escape, and then met the formidable beast.

"Now he is a goner!" gurgled Old Rocks, faintly.

With outstretched paws the bear closed in.

Frank saw he was not going to be able to escape the hug, and he placed the haft of the knife against his own breast, with the point directed toward the bear.

The grizzly folded Frank in his embrace, crushing the lad against his shaggy breast, and, in this way, the creature drove the knife home to its own heart.

Uttering a great groan, it relaxed its hold, dropped on all fours, hung its head, and then sunk in a heap upon the ground, dying.

Frank felt as if his ribs had been crushed, and he was covered with blood, but he had conquered.

Old Rocks was so dazed that he sat on the ground, staring at the "tenderfoot kid," and faintly gasping:

"Dog my cats!"

Frank flung the knife to the ground, and then sat down, panting, in a desperate endeavor to get a full breath.

Old Rocks got up very slowly, stood looking at the dead bear some moments, and then looked at the boy.

"This beats me!" he grunted. "Whoever heard o' a tenderfut doin' sech a thing! An' he didn't seem ter be scart a tall!"

Then he came nearer Frank, at whom he still stared.

"It ain't a mistake, none whatever. This yar kid done it, and he done it in great shape! Say, youngster."

"What?"

"I wants ter 'polergize."

"What for?"

"Fer sayin' tenderfeet never has sand. I'll take it all back. You've got sand enough fer anything, you hev! Do you know whut you done? Wa-al, a grizzly is harder ter kill then a hull tribe o' Injuns! I wuz dead lucky ter kill t'other one by a chance shot, an' I'd never done it ef I hedn't been so nigh ther muzzle o' my rifle wuz right up ag'in' ther varmint. You worked an old hunter's trick on him. Thet fust jab you gave ther whelp kinder spruced him up, an' he wuz ready ter crush ther stuffin' outer yer. By holdin' ther knife ez yer did, yer made him kill hisself. Guv us yer hand! I'll swar by you through thick and thin!"

So they shook hands again.



CHAPTER XXXII.

TRAILED DOWN.

"Ther trail's gittin' derned hot, boy!" said Old Rocks, near sunset. "Ther p'izen varmints can't be fur ahead."

They were passing through one of the wildest sections of the park. Mountains, capped with eternal snow, were on every hand. Their sides were seamed with mighty chasms and strewn with huge bowlders, many of which, it seemed, the weight of a hand would send crashing and thundering into the dark depths below.

Some of the mountains bore traces of vegetation, pine and cedar showing darkly on many a jagged cliff. Some were bleak and barren, but none the less grand, impressive, and awe-inspiring.

Amid these mountains were desolate canyons, which seemed to hold some dreadful secret locked fast in their silent bosoms.

Since the encounter with the grizzlies Old Rocks and Frank had paused to eat a square meal of bear-steak, and it had braced them for the tramp, so they were able to cover ground swiftly without fatigue or discomfort.

They had passed through a region of boiling geysers, where the water shot more than a hundred feet into the air, and came down in a rain, across which a beautiful rainbow formed, the roaring sound which accompanied this exhibition being as loud as the exhaust of a thousand locomotives.

In one marshy valley they had passed pools of water, sulphur yellow, bright green, pink, crimson, and nearly all colors of the rainbow, the pools being from twenty to fifty feet apart.

They had seen other things which were not given a second glance by Old Rocks, but which Frank longed to stop and examine.

But it was no time for sight-seeing, as the boy well knew, and he held close to the heels of the unwearying guide.

And now, near nightfall, Old Rocks declared that the trail was getting hot.

"Shall we be able to overtake them before dark?" asked Frank, with the greatest anxiety.

"I dunno," was the answer. "But it's derned certun thet we ain't goin' ter come fur from it."

"Oh, for two hours more of daylight!" sighed the boy.

"We'd run ther critters down dead sure in thet time. But I don't want yer ter git ther idee thet they're goin' ter give up ther gal 'thout a murmur."

"But they will have to give her up."

"Thet's whatever. All ther same, we may hev ter fight, an' ole Half Hand is a mighty bad critter ter buck agin'; you hear me shout!"

"I am ready to fight, if necessary."

"Ef I'd heerd yer say so this mornin', I w'u'dn't putt no dependence on it; but now I'll allow thet yer means whut yer says, an' yer've got sand ter give erway. Boy, you're a holy terror on trucks, an' you may quote me ez sayin' so."

Frank did not smile.

"Wait," he said. "I may not show up so well in the encounter with the Blackfeet. I was lucky in the bear fight."

"Wa-al, dog my cats ef you ain't ther fust tenderfut I ever saw thet wouldn't hev bragged his head off ef he'd killed a grizzly! Why, boy, you don't seem ter know whut ye've done! You've made a record. Ary other tenderfut I ever saw'd go back East an' publish ther story in all ther papers. He'd be hailed ez a mighty chief an' a tin god on wheels."

"Tenderfeet are not all braggarts, any more than Westerners are all brave men."

"Thet's whatever," nodded Rocks; "but it's took me a gaul derned long time ter find it out."

The sun was low behind the western mountains, and darkness was filling the great canyons.

The guide swung onward at a steady pace, following the trail with the same readiness and ease that had proved a source of wonder all along to his companion.

It was evident the Blackfeet had not anticipated hot pursuit, and so they had made little or no effort to hide their trail after passing across an arm of the lake.

The trail grew hotter and hotter, but night came on swiftly, and Old Rocks was forced to bend low and keep his eyes on the ground.

"Watch out ahead, boy," he directed. "I've got all I kin' tend ter in follerin' ther trail. Don't let us run plump onter ther varmints, fer they might take a notion ter wipe us out."

So Frank followed the guide, keeping his eyes to the front, and watching for danger.

Darker and darker it became. Rocks was forced to proceed more slowly, as there was danger of losing the trail entirely.

Finally he found it necessary to stop now and then and examine the ground thoroughly.

"We shall not overtake them before dark, shall we?" asked Frank, anxiously.

"Hard tellin'. Watch out. May run onter 'em any time."

When they halted again, Frank suddenly uttered a low cry of warning, caught hold of the man, and exclaimed:

"Look there!"

Through the darkness they saw the twinkle of a camp-fire.

"Thet settles it!" breathed Old Rocks, exultantly. "The skunks are thar! We've run 'em down!"

He gave no further attention to the trail, but straightway made sure that every weapon he possessed was ready for use.

"Now, boy," he whispered, "keep yer nerve. Thar'll be need enough o' it afore long."

"I am with you," assured Frank. "I do not think I shall lose my nerves in this case."

"Wa-al, I don't," confessed the man. "I've got heaps o' conferdence in yer now. We'll creep up."

Then followed something that sorely tried the patience of the boy, for Old Rocks seemed to crawl forward like a snail, taking advantage of every cover that would shield them from the sight of any one in front.

The guide warned Frank to "hug ther ground," and made him creep, and skulk, and wiggle along when there seemed no need of it.

In this way they slowly drew near to the fire, about which figures moved now and then.

"It's ther onery Blackfeet," the guide finally announced. "We hev done a good job so fur ter-day, an' now we wants ter finish it right, you bet!"

"What do you mean to do?" asked Frank.

"Make a bluff," was the answer.

"What kind of a bluff?"

They had reached a point where they could look into the camp and see the savages feasting on some kind of game they had killed and cooked by the fire.

"I'm goin' in thar an' demand ther gal," said the guide.

"Won't that put us in their power?"

"You won't go with me."

"No?"

"No. You'll keep in ther background."

"What for?"

"As a reserve force. You must keep yer peepers open, an' ef you see ther skunks is goin' ter do fer me, jest open up on 'em. I reckon you kin shoot some?"

"Yes."

"Take good keer not ter bore me."

"I will."

"But, ef yer start, pump ther lead ter ther critters ter beat ther Ole Nick."

"I will do it."

"Make sure whar ye're puttin' yer bullets, fer ye don't want ter kill ther leetle gal."

"You may depend on me."

"While you're slingin' lead I'll try ter git ther gal an' git erway with her."

"Won't we get into trouble if I should kill one of these Indians?"

"How?"

"Why, the Blackfeet are peaceable, and it may create a disturbance. We may be hauled over the coals."

"Haul an' be derned! Ther onery varmints hev kidnaped a white gal, an' they're poachin' on forbidden territory, besides bein' off ther reservation. Ef they try ter kill me, it will be a case o' self-defence. I'll allow as how we kin defend ourselves. You do ez I say, an we'll come out all right, dog my cats ef we don't!"

"All right."

"But don't shoot 'less yer hev ter, remember thet."

"I will remember it."

"Ef I hedn't seen ther b'ar, an' seen hwar yer putt five bullets inter him inside ther space uv a silver dollar, I might be skerry 'bout lettin' yer shoot inter thet camp while I wuz thar; but I'll admit ez how I reckon ye kin shoot."

They now crept forward till they were within easy shooting distance of the camp, and then Rocks paused once more, putting his lips close to Frank's ear, and whispering:

"See them rocks down thar?"

The boy nodded.

"Wa-al, jest you creep down behind them an' take yer position ready ter sling lead."

"What are you going to do?"

"Git inter ther camp. I'm goin' ter walk in from t'other side, so they'll be lookin' fer any further danger frum thet quarter. Don't git impatient, fer it'll take me some time ter git round thar. Wait easy."

"I'll wait."

Then the old man crept away into the darkness, and Frank began working his way down to the rocks.

He finally reached the position, and there he waited, being able to look into the camp and see every figure revealed by the flaring fire.

The little girl was there, exhausted by the day of hardships, sleeping soundly. One of the Indians had thrown a greasy blanket over her, so she was protected from the night air, which is always chilly in Yellowstone Park.

Frank's heart throbbed with sympathy as he gazed down on her.

"Poor little Fairy!" he thought. "How she did cling to me! I am ready to wade through fire and water for her. We will save her to-night if we live!"

He found it difficult to restrain his impatience as the time crept slowly away and Old Rocks failed to appear. Some of the Indians rolled themselves in their blankets and prepared to sleep. Others sat and smoked in grim silence.

Frank had spotted Half Hand, and he felt that it would be some satisfaction to send a bullet after the villainous half-blood.

"He is at the bottom of this business," thought the boy. "He would not hesitate at murder."

Nearly an hour passed after Old Rocks crept away before the guide appeared. At last, to the astonishment of Frank and the utter consternation of the Indians, the man seemed to rise up in the very midst of the camp, as if he had suddenly sprouted from the ground.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE RESCUE.

A yell of astonishment broke from the throats of the Indians who were awake, and it brought the sleepers out of their blankets in a moment.

With the utmost coolness, Old Rocks stepped toward the fire, sat down on a log near the sleeping child, and took out his black pipe.

"Any o' you fellers got any good smokin' terbacker?" he asked, coolly. "I ain't got northin' left but chawin', an thet's derned pore stuff ter burn."

"Ugh!" grunted the Blackfeet, staring at him in unutterable amazement.

"Hey?" questioned the guide. "Whut did yer say?"

"Where white man come from?" demanded Half Hand, harshly.

"Over yon," was the answer, and Rocks made a sweep of his hand that took in half the horizon.