Kiddie glanced at the pencil point and smiled.

"Might have sharpened it again, while I've been waitin'," he said.

"But you didn't," returned Rube. "There ain't no chips lyin' around—unless you've put 'em in your pocket, same's you did before."

Kiddie smiled again. He had moved to the fire to put on the eggs.

"You're becomin' quite observant, Rube," he said. "See anythin' special on your solitary wanderin's?"

"Guess I found this here scrap of paper," Rube answered. "Looks as if it had been tore outer that note-book you was pretendin' to be writin' in—same size, same colour, an' thar's writin' on it, too. Looks like your own fist, don't it?"

Kiddie reached for the square of paper that was handed to him and examined it as if he had never seen it before.



"Queer!" he ruminated, "it's sure my handwritin'—'Bring this back to camp.' Where'd you pick it up?"

"Didn't pick it up at all," answered Rube. "Found it on a hickory bush, far, far in, as it might be the very heart o' the forest."

"Ah! Some mischievous jay bird plant it there, d'ye think?"

"Jay bird couldn't have written that message on it," said Rube. "Jay bird couldn't have fastened it with a twig drove through the paper ter keep it in place. Guess you heard a jay squawkin' a lot, didn't you, Kiddie?"

"Sure," Kiddie nodded. "Couldn't get quit of the fowl until you came along on my track an' it started ter foller you instead of me. How'd you find your way back to camp?"

"Came th' same way as you did, I reckon," answered Rube. "Went th' same way's you meant me ter go, all the time—trackin' you by the clues you left."

Kiddie was silent until the tea was quite ready and the two of them were seated. Then he said—

"You've done a heap better'n I expected you to do, Rube. I didn't leave many clues, there was none of them conspicuous, an' they were very far apart—fifty yards apart at the least. Tell me exactly what you found."

"Well," said Rube, beginning on his tea, "first of all thar was a mark of your foot where you went in so silent. Then' th' jay started squawkin', an' I got my direction. I follered it, an' hadn't gone far when I sees a balsam branch swayin' where thar was no wind ter stir it. I went straight forward until I began ter think I was goin' wrong, when I smelt smoke. I searched an' came upon a bit of charred cloth. You'd squandered a valuable lucifer match ter set fire t' a piece of greasy rag that you'd cleaned the lamp with. After that, I went astray; couldn't find a trace o' you nohow, an' had ter get back t' th' burnt rag ter make a fresh start."

"Yes," interposed Kiddie, "just as I intended. The trees were all alike thereabout and easily mistaken one for another. Well?"

"Thar was one of 'em different," pursued Rube, "a silver birch tree amongst the cotton-woods—an' I found where you'd cut a stick from it an' smudged the cut so's it wouldn't easily be seen. Is that right? You carried that stick along of you—brought it home. Once or twice you scored a mark on the ground with th' point of it. You began cuttin' some of the bark from the stick, droppin' a bit every fifty yards or so. But that was too easy for me. Any tenderfoot'd have found them bits o' bark."

"Quite right," agreed Kiddie, "an' you ain't anything of a tenderfoot. Yes? Well?"

"So you changed your scent, so ter speak. You felt in your pocket an' fetched out them chips o' lead pencil, an' you planted em one by one so all-fired cutely that nobody who wasn't searchin' fer signs c'd have discovered 'em. One of 'em you dropped lightly on a branch of balsam, level with my eyes; another you hung up, even more lightly, on a line of spider web. How did you manage that, Kiddie?"

Kiddie looked up from his spoonful of egg.

"Just laid th' chip in the palm of my hand an' blew it softly inter th' web, where it stuck suspended, like Mahomet's coffin," he explained.

"Don't know nothin' 'bout Mahomet's coffin," said Rube, "but that chip o' pencil was real cleverly done; it was top notch. After that, you dropped clues pretty freely, afraid o' my missin' 'em, I reckon. You didn't just blaze the trees; but you broke down twigs, you tore up ferns an' things, you kicked up the soil with your toe, an' you scored marks with your stick. At one place you tied a knot in a clump of rush grass, leavin' a pointer. I was follerin' you quick when at last I come t' the creek, an' thar you had me. You waded into th' water—that's how you got your moccasins wet—an' you didn't cross; you walked up the stream, I guess."

"Right," nodded Kiddie. "But that was a false scent. I didn't go far—not more'n a dozen yards—I came out on the same side and dried my feet."

"I saw where you did that," Rube went on. "It wasn't far from where you laid the three fir cones as a pointer, plain's a sign-post. Then you followed along by the creek to the tree where you hung up th' leaf from your pocket-book. From there you made it easy for me, comin' home in a bee-line, scatterin' clues right an' left."

"Well, Rube, I'll say this," declared Kiddie, "that you did remarkably well all through. There were not a great many clues that you failed to pick up. You missed some important ones, however, which makes it all the more surprisin' that you came back so quickly. We'll play that same game another time. It's good for us both. And now, I guess we'll just wash up an' make the camp clean for the night before goin' out in the canoe ter catch a fish or two, if it's not too late."



CHAPTER XII

A MOONLIGHT VISITOR

As a matter of fact, the fishing was only a pretext on Kiddie's part. They caught no fish whatever, and they were still in the middle of the lake when darkness came on.

Kiddie lingered yet longer, resting over his paddle and entertaining his companion with talk and stories and the singing of songs. Hardly noticed by Rube, he dipped the paddle and gradually turned the canoe round and round.

"Rube, old man," he said at length, "I've made up another scouting task for you. Find our landing place. Take us straight into it. You can't see it in this darkness, I know. You dunno where 'tis; but you've got ter navigate us into it, and without my help, see?"

Rube was not to be caught napping. He took the paddle in hand, looked up to the stars, and made for home as truly and unerringly as even Kiddie himself could have done.

The air was hot that night, and Kiddie again preferred to sleep in the open. And he slept very soundly.

Rube, on the contrary, found the teepee stifling, in spite of the wide-open door flap. He was restless; the mosquitoes tormented him, too. He began to envy Kiddie, lying in the cooler air. So much so that at about two o'clock in the morning ho got free of his sleeping bag, took his revolver, and crept out into the bright moonlight.

Kiddie lay flat on his back under a cotton-wood tree, his arms folded across his chest, shielding his hidden eyes from the silvery light of the moon.

Rube's foot kicked against an unseen pannikin, making an alarming clatter.

He looked to see if Kiddie stirred, and saw instead a movement in the tree. The branch just above Kiddie's head was swaying and a strange black body showed itself ominously through the trembling leaves.

Rube leant forward and became aware of a pair of large, shining, yellow eyes. Beneath them, farther back, a long, curved tail was swinging to and fro like a pendulum. The eyes were far apart, showing that the animal which owned them was of great size—bigger, certainly, than an ordinary lynx.

Rube raised his gun, deciding to shoot the beast between the eyes. But before he could take aim there was a sudden quick movement in Kiddie's sleeping-place, a sharp flash, and a loud report that was mingled with a fierce howl and a heavy thud.

Kiddie had leapt to his feet and was ready to fire a second shot at the beast that was writhing and snarling at his feet.

"Keep back, Rube," he said calmly. "He ain't dead yet. But I've got him. It's that black puma that came t' th' trap last night."

From where Rube Carter stood, Kiddie and the wounded puma seemed to be hopelessly mixed up together in the darkness. He made a step or two forward holding his revolver levelled, with his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot, yet hesitating, lest he should hit Kiddie.

"Keep back!" Kiddie repeated. "I've sure got him."

The puma was rolling and writhing in helplessness, snarling viciously, and now and then howling, as it tried to rise to its feet. Rube could see the brute's big round eyes flashing brightly at first and then becoming smaller and dimmer.

"Mind it don't give you a scratch with them claws," he cautioned Kiddie.

Kiddie stood back, and the moonlight fell upon the puma's sleek black coat.

"Biggest lion I've ever seen," remarked Rube. "I'm only wishin' it had bin me 'stead of you as put the bullet in him."

"You can give him one right now, to finish him," said Kiddie.

"He ain't needin' another," said Rube. "Besides, 'tain't th' same thing. I guessed you was sound asleep when I come outer the wigwam. Puma was lyin' along the branch right over you, gettin' ready ter drop down on you. I reckoned your life was in danger, an' I wanted ter save you, see? That's what I'm allus wantin' t' do; but you never gives me a chance. How did you know the brute was thar, Kiddie? How did you happen ter wake an' git out your gun an' shoot so mortal quick—'fore I'd time ter lift my arm an' press the trigger?"

"Well," returned Kiddie, "I dunno exactly. But I've a notion that I knew the critter was right there long before you did, Rube. I'd heard him crawlin' along among the bushes an' nosin' around about the traps. He was some wise, though, after his experience of last night. He wasn't havin' any truck with them traps. He was kind of suspicious of 'em, I guess, an' preferred to hunt his own food alive. So he got on ter the scent of the camp an' came sneakin' right here. I've a notion he didn't like the look of the teepee where you were sleepin'—thought maybe it was another trap; no more did he find any attraction in the camp fire. Thar was a live man, however, easy t' get at, under this yer tree. He came t' investigate overhead, an' was lyin' along that branch when you oozed outer the teepee an' diverted his attention by kickin' your foot against a tin pannikin, makin' noise enough t' waken the seven sleepers. If I hadn't been pretty quick with my gun just then, I guess that puma wouldn't have hesitated t' make a meal of you."

"Allus allowin' that I didn't stop him," rejoined Rube.

He watched the puma giving a final kick, and then become still and silent.

Kiddie went nearer to the animal, seized its long tail in both hands and hauled it bodily away from under the tree.

"We'll leave him there till daylight," he decided, "an' then have a proper look at him. Meanwhile, let's quit and finish our sleep."

Daylight revealed the puma as an uncommonly fine animal, in good condition. Kiddie preserved the pelt, with the head and feet. He also took the dimensions of the carcass at various parts to help him in modelling the body for mounting.

"I've got a pair of glass eyes that'll just suit," he told Rube. "They're some light in colour, but I guess we c'n darken 'em before we fix 'em in."

On that same day they moved the camp to a different part of the forest, but still on the shores of the lake, and they remained there for a week, trapping, shooting, fishing, and exercising their woodcraft. Then, at Rube's suggestion, they landed on a small island thickly overgrown with pine trees. Here, however, there were very few animals to trap, and small opportunity for scouting, although Rube did not for that reason cease to take advantage of Kiddie's wider knowledge and skill.

They were out in the canoe fishing one afternoon. Kiddie remarked upon the extreme clearness of the water, and told Rube to lean over and look down into it.

"You c'n see the bottom of the lake fathoms an' fathoms beneath us," he said.

"Yes," agreed Rube, peering down into the transparent depths. He raised his head and added: "You was sayin' th' other day, Kiddie, that no white man, an' p'r'aps no red man either, had ever lived in these parts in ancient times."

"I said—or meant to say—that there was no visible trace of early native inhabitants or white settlers," Kiddie corrected.

"Well, that's good enough," resumed Rube. "I guess I've got you, anyway. Look deep down thar, an' you'll see the trunk of a tree. It ain't got 'ny branches on it. I b'lieve I c'n even make out the cuts of an axe on the end of it. How'd it come there if it wasn't hewn down by men as used edged tools?"

Kiddie was not in the least nonplussed.

"How'd it come t' be lyin' at the bottom of the lake, anyway?" he questioned.

"Dunno," Rube answered, very much puzzled. "You mean, why ain't it afloat? Guess it's too heavy; though I can't tell just why. All wood floats, don't it?"

"Most wood does—all that grows about here," Kiddie affirmed. "Why, do you suppose, your men with edged tools took the trouble to cut down a big tree like that, and not make any use of so much valuable timber?"

Rube shrugged his shoulders.

"Now you're askin' me a conundrum I can't answer," he said.

"No," returned Kiddie; "because you've got hold of the wrong idea. That tree wasn't felled by any axe. It grew at the edge of the lake, where the ground was soft and moist. It was blown down in some storm or hurricane, and fell into the water. Gradually th' roots an' branches broke off, and after a long while—many years, mebbe—the bare trunk floated off. It drifted about like an iceberg or a derelict ship—drifted an' drifted until it became water-logged an' so heavy that it sank t' th' bottom, where it still lies. It was just an ordinary process of Nature."

Rube was silent for many moments.

"Thar ain't no trippin' you up, Kiddie," he said at length. "I made certain sure I had you that time."

"Wait a bit," pursued Kiddie; "I'll show you something else." He paddled farther out in the lake, taking his bearings by well-remembered landmarks. "Now look down through the water," he instructed, when after many pauses, he at last drew in his paddle. "What d'ye see?"

Rube leant over and searched the depths.

"Not much," he answered. "I c'n see the bottom, sure—stones, gravel, swayin' weeds. Hold hard, though. Them stones didn't grow there. Guess they're too reg'lar. I c'n make out a ring of 'em."

"Yes," said Kiddie. "So c'n I. Some queer that they should be arranged in a circle that way, ain't it? Are you able t' figure it out?"

Rube pondered deeply, frequently looking down at the stones so precisely placed in a ring at the bottom of the lake.

"They sure never come there on their own account, like the tree," he decided. "Looks as if human hands had put em' that way, an' I've got a idea, Kiddie. It's just this. Centuries an' centuries ago, this yer lake wasn't a lake at all, but dry land."

"Well?" Kiddie smiled. "That's possible."

"And," continued Rube, "when it was dry land, a tribe of what you call prehistoric men lived here. They was pagans—sun worshippers, an' such. They built the stones in a circle as a kinder temple, same's them chaps you told me of that built Stonehenge. What? Ain't that a cute idea of mine?"

"I allow th' idea's cute," conceded Kiddie. "But it ain't an explanation. It's too far-fetched altogether, an' it contradicts the theory that there were no inhabitants in these wildernesses all that time ago. If you'd thought a bit longer, you might have hit upon the true an' very commonplace explanation. Y'see, the stones haven't even been in the lake long enough to get a growth of weeds and moss on 'em. As a matter of fact, they've been there only a very few winters—since the time when the name 'Kiddie' was more appropriate to me than it is now. There was a big frost; the lake was frozen over. I'd the boyish idea that it 'ld be int'restin' t' build a house on the ice. There was no snow; stones were handier 'n timber. I carted the stones here on my sled. I built 'em in a circle. Snow came, an' I finished the buildin' with snow. You c'n sure guess the rest."

"Yes, course I can," said Rube. "When the snow an' ice melted, the stones sank straight down, an' fell to the bottom in a ring. What did I say just now, Kiddie? Thar ain't no trippin' you up or catchin' you nappin'."

"I dunno if you're aware of it, Rube," resumed Kiddie, "but for the past two or three minutes I've had the corner of my eye on a canoe that's comin' this way down the lake. Who's at the paddle? 'Tain't Gideon's way of paddlin'. 'Tain't Abe Harum. Who d'ye reckon it c'n be?"

Rube watched the approaching canoe. It had appeared suddenly from beyond a jutting promontory of spruce trees.

"Dunno," he answered, "don't reco'nize him. Seems like as Gid had loaned the canoe t' a stranger. An' yet I seem t' have seen that pinky-red shirt before, an' that straight-rimmed Stetson hat."

"Looks t' me like Sheriff Blagg," said Kiddie. "What's he want, cavortin' about on the lake searchin' for us? He's been t' our first campin' ground. Now he's shapin' for the island, led by our fire-smoke."



Kiddie whistled a shrill, long, tremulous note. He was an uncommonly good whistler. The sound was echoed and re-echoed from every chasm and canyon on the far shores of the lake; it might have been heard many miles away.

Above the island and over the forest the air was sprinkled with startled birds; from the dark ravine of Laramie Pass a pair of eagles took flight.

Isa Blagg drew his paddle and waved his hat. He followed Kiddie's canoe into the little bay that was its mooring place on the farther side of the island.

"Located you at last!" he said, as he stepped ashore. "Gid Birkenshaw told me I sh'd find you somewheres around the lake; but he didn't say nothin' 'bout your bein' camped on an island. I bin searchin' along the shores; found one o' your campin' grounds in among the trees, though you'd cleaned it up so's it wasn't easy ter be sure it was a campin' place at all. Guess you didn't intend anybody ter foller on your tracks, or you'd ha' left some signs around. How do, Rube?"

He shook hands with the two trappers, and then turned to help in the work of cleaning and frying the fish for tea.

"Gee!" he exclaimed, at sight of the afternoon's catch. "Never notioned thar was so many fish in the whole of your lake 's all that, Kiddie! Why, they're 'most as pretty an' colourful as birds, too. Say, are they all the same breed?"

"Oh, no," Rube told him, indicating the various kinds in rotation. "Them thar's pickerel, that's a bream, these are shiners, pouts, an' chivins; the others are trout an' perch. We'll cook 'em all together, though."

"Young Rube's gettin' quite a professional hand at cookin'," said Kiddie, measuring out pinches of tea. "You'll hear of him one o' these days takin' on the job of chef in some high-class New York hotel. He's got twenty-one diff'rent ways of cookin' eggs, an' as many of potatoes. You didn't happen ter bring along any eggs or potatoes, did you, Isa? Rube an' I are livin' quite simply, but I'm figuring that you'll be lookin' for variety in the matter of food. You'll stay with us, won't you, Sheriff, until we break camp?"

Isa Blagg shook his head.

"No, Kiddie; no," he responded. "It would suit me right down t' th' dust; but it ain't possible. I'm here t' consult you on a matter o' business; an' soon's I'm through with it, I gotter quit."



CHAPTER XIII

A MATTER OF BUSINESS

Isa Blagg was in no haste to state the nature of the business which had brought him upon so long a journey in search of Kiddie; and Kiddie did not press him for an explanation of his unexpected visit.

"Rube an' I, we ain't gettin' anyways tired of each other's company," Kiddie remarked when the meal was over and Isa was taking out his pipe. "All the same, Sheriff, we're main glad ter see you. Got any news?"

"News?" Isa was lighting his pipe. "No, thar ain't a whole lot. Things is kinder quiet along the trail, an' you ain't missin' a great deal of excitement. I'm told as Broken Feather's bin seen about again. Seems he's bin laid up f'r a while back with the bullet wound you gave him. But he ain't bin interferin' none, an' in any case, he don't come within my jurisdiction. Nick Undrell's different."

"What about Nick Undrell?" Kiddie asked.

"That fetches me up against the point," returned Isa. "That's the business brought me on your trail. But before we drag in Nick, I'll start at the beginnin'. I don't doubt you remember the name of Sanson T. Wrangler."

"Yes," Kiddie affirmed, "he kept a prosperous general store in Laramie. Used to sell very good candy an' a variety of temperance drinks, includin' a special brew of lemon squash, of which delectable beverage I've consumed some quarts."

"That's the man," resumed Isa. "But 'tain't just c'rrect ter call Sanson prosperous. Thar's a heap of competition in the temp'rance drink line, an' the retailin' of candy don't represent a gold mine. Sanson T. Wrangler's store hasn't flourished since the time he was in Leavenworth hospital for an operation. His speculations was unfortunate. He lost a heap of dollars an' got inter debt. His chief creditor threatened law proceedings against him if he didn't shell out slick. Ter meet his liabilities he sold out a quantity of his stock. He borrowed where he could, an' one way with another, he accumulated enough capital ter pay that debt on the stipulated date, which was last Monday. Are you listenin', Kiddie? You're gazin' up inter them clouds as if you was composin' a poem to 'em, 'stead of cipherin' out the problem I'm puttin' in front of you."

"I assure you I'm all attention, Isa," Kiddie averred. "I expect you're going to tell me now that Sanson T. Wrangler got foolin' around in some low down gamblin' saloon and lost that pile of dollars over a game of poker. What?"

"No," continued Isa, "that wasn't the way of it; though I allow he was in Brierley's saloon Saturday night, boastin' to his friends about how he'd rounded up the cash, and had locked it away in his iron safe back of the store. On Sunday he didn't show up at meetin': nobody saw him all day. Next mornin' his store wasn't opened as usual. The matter was put inter my hands, an' I entered the premises t' investigate. First thing I see was Sanson T. Wrangler's iron safe standin' open an' empty, th' account books an' papers bein' flung around in disorder. Second thing was Sanson T. Wrangler hisself lyin' huddled up in a corner 'f th' room, gagged an' apparently unconscious."

"Why 'apparently'?" questioned Kiddie.

"Didn't move, didn't make no sound," explained the sheriff. "When I turned him over he was kinder mazy, didn't know where he was or what had occurred, an' was like as he was sick. Afterward, however, he was able t' give a circumstantial account of the robbery. His wife an' daughter'd gone away to St. Louis. He was livin' alone in th' emporium. Sunday evenin' he was on the point of goin' out ter meetin' when, on openin' the door, he caught sight of two masked men—strangers, so far's he c'n tell, though he'd an idea as to the identity of one of 'em. They dropped on him instanter; a pair of arms was flung around him, and a cloth that had a sickly sweet smell, like the stuff given him in hospital t' send him asleep, was clapped over his head. He struggled, but was soon overpowered, dragged across the floor, and deposited unconscious in the darkest corner of the room. It was while I was present that he first come ter know that his thief-proof safe had been opened and that his pile of greenbacks had been stolen. The safe had been opened with the key hidden back of the tobacco jar on his writin' desk."

Isa Blagg broke off, looking to Kiddie for comment.

"Well?" said Kiddie. "Go on. What's your theory? You mentioned the name of Nick Undrell a while back. Have you arrested him?"

"Nick's vamoosed," resumed the sheriff; "an' that goes against him. He was sure in Laramie Saturday night—even in Brierley's saloon. He knew about Sanson T. Wrangler's pile o' money bein' fixed up in the safe. He wasn't anyways friendly disposed to Sanson T. neither. Thar's a heap of evidence pointin' straight to Nick Undrell. It's in Nick's methods ter wear a black face-mask an' leave his victim helplessly gagged. I allow as Jim Thurston declares he met Nick at Three Crossings Sunday evenin'; but Jim's a pard of Nick's, an' his unsupported word ain't worth a whole lot, anyway."

Rube Carter leant forward. He was deeply interested in this case of burglary with violence.

"Say, now, sheriff," he interposed, "didn't you look for footprints and finger-marks?"

Isa shook his head.

"Never knew a clean boot make a print on a soft pile carpet," he answered. "As fer finger-marks—Sanson T. Wrangler's ready ter swear in court as the criminals both wore gloves, fully provin' that they wasn't novices in the burglary business."

He turned again to Kiddie.

"Knowin' as you're kinder int'rested in the moral regeneration of Nick Undrell, Kiddie," he went on, "I've hesitated ter issue a warrant for the man's arrest. I concluded that before goin' to extreme measures I should be wise ter take your advice. I'm here now for that purpose."

Kiddie smiled.

"My personal interest in him would be no excuse for your allowin' a guilty man to go free and unpunished," he observed judicially. "If you believe that Nick Undrell committed this burglary, then by all means issue your warrant and have him arrested. There are circumstances in the case, however, which do not seem to me to support your suspicions. Let us examine them. You suspect Nick because he knew of the money and where it was kept. He wasn't the only one who knew. Sanson T. Wrangler had publicly boasted of his readiness to meet his liabilities, and every man in the crowded saloon must have known just as much as Nick. I allow that Nick's an old offender; but it ain't fair to condemn him on mere supposition, simply because the victim in this case is alleged to have been gagged by a man wearing a mask. I'm not saying that Nick didn't do it, mind you; but you've got to prove that Jim Thurston was lying when he said he saw Nick along at Three Crossings on Sunday evening—a good seventy miles away from the scene of the crime."

Kiddie paused for a moment.

"Were Sanson's shirt-sleeves buttoned at the wrist, or were they rolled up?" he asked abruptly.

"Rolled up t' the elbow," Isa answered quickly. "His arms was bare."

"And the bag or cloth, with the chloroform in it, was drawn down over his hat, I suppose?" pursued Kiddie.

"No. His hat was hangin' up, back of the door. But you're right about the bag. It was like a big nightcap. He'd pulled it off."

"You smelt the sickly sweet smell about the room when you entered, did you, Isa?"

"Can't say as I did. Guess it had evaporated by then."

"Dare say," nodded Kiddie. "Y'see it was at least twelve hours afterwards, and—say, now, don't you reckon twelve hours a precious long time for a man to lie insensible after only one dose of chloroform?"

"Dunno," said the sheriff, "I'm ignorant of the effects an' uses of them outlandish drugs."

"And yet you imagine that Nick Undrell knew how to use it, or get hold of a dose of it, even if he knew! Why, I don't figure that Nick ever heard the name of the stuff—not havin' been in hospital, like Sanson T. Wrangler. If you ask me, Isa, I don't believe there was any chloroform within a day's ride of Laramie on Sunday evening. Just put your wits to work, my friend. To begin with, Sanson T.'s wife and daughter were away in St. Louis. That was real convenient. Then the money disappeared from the thief-proof safe just at the time when it was to have been paid up to clear off the debt—that was equally convenient. I'm told that the thieves attacked him when Sanson opened the door to go out to meeting. But did any one ever know a respectable citizen go out to meeting with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and without his hat? Or would he go out leaving the key of the safe on the open desk table? Then the stupefying effects of chloroform would not certainly last more than an hour, although the sickly smell of the drug would linger about the closed room for quite twelve."

"Say, Kiddie," Rube interrupted, "you've gotten on this yer crime problem the same's you'd track a wild critter in the woods. Seems ter me, you've run that critter right into its lair. All you've been sayin's as clear's the water in the lake. I c'n see the bottom plain, an' I figure it up as thar wasn't no burglary at all, thar wasn't no masked men or chloroform. Sanson T. Wrangler made the whole thing up ter cover his own tracks, an' the only thief in the case was Sanson T. Wrangler hisself."

"Exactly," nodded Kiddie.

"Shake!" cried Isa Blagg, thrusting out his hand. "You're sure right, Kiddie; plumb right, you are. You've gotten straight's a die to the very innards of the problem. The hull evidence supports your theory. Here's me, a perfessional lawyer, so ter speak, bin puzzlin' my head over that alleged crime f'r days on end, an' never c'd make top nor tail of it; an' you, settin' idle at this yer camp fire, have solved it as easy an' as slick 's you might cipher out a sum in simple arithmetic."

Kiddie shrugged his shoulders.

"It's merely the application of common sense to a very ordinary proposition," he said.

"Kiddie don't jump at no rash conclusions," observed Rube Carter. "Trainin' in scout-craft has sharpened his wits at ev'ry point. He follers th' evidence of a crime same 's he'd foller on the tracks of a wild critter of the woods."

"Exactly," Kiddie nodded. "There's no difference."

"He looks at a thing all round an' through an' through 'fore he fixes up his mind about it," Rube went on, addressing the sheriff. "You an' me, Isa, we ain't built the same 's Kiddie. We ain't so slick or so clever at analysin'. Because a galoot like this yer Sanson T. Wrangler happens along an' says he's bin robbed, you never waits t' inquire if he's tellin' the truth. You dash off on a false trail t' arrest a innercent man. Kiddie has a way o' workin' that's all his own, an' if he don't allus hit the bull's-eye fust shot, at least he never misses the target."

"I allow Kiddie's cute," acknowledged Isa. "He's got the sagacity of a Injun combined with the trained intelligence of a civilized human. If Kiddie wasn't so all-fired scrupulous about truth an' justice, he'd make a passable magistrate. But I reckon his ambitions don't lie in that direction."

The sheriff stood up and glanced towards his canoe.

"Guess it's 'bout time for me ter think of quittin'," he remarked.

"But you'll stop in camp with us to-night?" said Kiddie. "Now that you're through with that robbery problem, there's no occasion for hustle, an' I guess Rube c'n make you as comfortable 's if you were stayin' in a high-class Cincinnati hotel."

"Nothing would please me better'n to be your lordship's guest for a night," returned Isa. "I'm goin' ter stay. Th' experience of sleepin' on a island 'll be suthin' of a novelty. Thar's a spice of adventure about it that I appreciate. Gideon Birkenshaw 'll conclude I've located your camp. He won't worry any on my account. When shall I tell Gid you'll be home?"

"The time is not limited," returned Kiddie. "Rube and I are a long way from bein' tired of campin' out, and we've got 'most all we want. We ain't worryin' about letters or newspapers or any engagements or duties. We're havin' a real good holiday, an' it's goin' ter last as long as the fine weather holds. But I'll tell you what you c'n do for us, sheriff. You've got plenty of cargo space in that canoe, an' we've some green pelts—the skins of critters we've trapped—that you c'n take back with you. Abe Harum knows what to do with 'em."

"Figurin' ter make this yer island your headquarters, I guess?" observed Isa.

"No," Kiddie answered, glancing aside at Rube. "We've exhausted the interests of the island. Rube has an idea he'd like t' explore some of those dark an' dismal canyons on the far side of the lake. We're only waitin' until he makes up his mind which one to choose."

"Then we've no need ter hang around much longer," said Rube, "for I've fixed on Lone Wolf Canyon. There's a strong appeal in the name of Lone Wolf."

"Gives promise of romantic solitood, don't it?" mused the sheriff. "I'm not hankerin' after solitoods, myself. For real enjoyment, give me Brierley's saloon in Laramie on a Saturday night."

"Ah," rejoined Rube, "you never learnt the meanin' of campin' out. You ain't got the instincts of a scout, the same as Kiddie an' me. Don't suppose you even knows the name of the bird that's bin warblin' so sweet for the past half-hour in the tree over your head."

Isa turned and looked up into the tree.

"No," he said, "until you mentioned it, I wasn't aware that there was any warblin' in the programme."

"Don't you pay any heed to Rube, sheriff," Kiddie interposed. "It's a special hobby of his to know a bird by its notes. The songster you're listenin' to now is just a whip-poor-will. It starts every evening precisely at sunset. When it quits singing, we reckon it's time to crawl into our sleepin' bags."

Isa Blagg was in no hurry for the bird to cease its singing. Indeed, it was long after the usual bed-time when at length he consented to leave the bivouac fire.

On the following morning he awoke with alarm to find himself alone on the island. He searched for Kiddie and Rube, and was beginning to fear that they had marooned him, when at last he discovered them swimming far out in the lake, where he had never thought of looking for them. They were so far away that he supposed he would have ample time to prepare breakfast for them; but on going to the fire he found the kettle boiling, the clean plates set ready, and the cut bacon waiting in the frying-pan. He strode to the creek and saw that his canoe was already loaded with the neatly-packed pelts that he was to take with him to Birkenshaw's.

"Gee!" he said to himself. "Never seen such a pair as them two in all my days. I ain't in it. They gets in front o' me every time!"

"We didn't ask you to come out and have a swim with us, Isa," greeted Kiddie as he stepped ashore.

"No use if you had done, Kiddie," returned Isa. "I never been in deep water in my life. None the less, I've gotten a healthy appetite for that bacon. Sleepin' on a island suits me. I'm real glad I came."

He paddled off in his canoe immediately after breakfast, when also Kiddie and Rube prepared to break camp.



CHAPTER XIV

LONE WOLF CANYON.

They were not long in crossing to the farther side of the lake and making a landing within the entrance to Lone Wolf Canyon. Neither of them had ever been here before, and they were disappointed in the prospect presented by the steep walls of barren cliff and the sunless gloom.

"Seems ter me we may as well leave our traps in the canoe," said Rube. "There ain't much chance of findin' any game where there's no bush for the wild critters ter hide, an' no herbage for the little 'uns ter feed on."

"It's the kind of place where our guns'll be of more use than the traps," Kiddie added. "I c'n make out a beaten track winding down among the rocks there. 'Tain't a human footpath, I reckon. Guess it was made by mountain goats, antelopes, deer, foxes, wolves, an' even buffalo, comin' down t' th' water for their evenin' drink. Have a close look, an' see if you can distinguish any footprints."

Rube examined the ground at various points, particularly near the water, where it was moist.

"Quite right, Kiddie," he reported. "It's sure a water trail. I made out the tracks of a bear and a lynx; an' thar's heaps of others that might be any of the critters you've named."

"There's birds as well," said Kiddie, "eagles, hawks, wild turkeys, grouse."

"I've never seen a eagle close at hand," Rube regretted. "I want to, badly. Did y' ever shoot one, Kiddie?"

"No, I've no use f'r a dead eagle. Caught one in a fox-trap once, in Lost Man's Gulch. Hadn't visited that trap for several days. When I went to it, there was a fine male eagle in it, an' all round about were the remains of rabbits an' birds. Couldn't make out at first just how that trapped eagle had gotten so much food. The rabbits an' lambs an' grouse didn't sure go up an' ask him ter kill an' eat them, and thar wasn't any humans near to take pity on him. Well, I watched from a distance, an' after a while I see the eagle's mate fly down an' give him a cub fox. That's how it had been all the time."

"Say, what did you do then, Kiddie?" Rube asked.

"Went an' opened the trap an' came away with two fine tail feathers and a nasty scratch on the arm," Kiddie answered, turning from the canoe to search for a suitable pitch for the camp.

He found a good place on a stretch of sloping ground between two high rocks at the edge of the lake, and in a very little time the teepee was erected, a fire well kindled, and the camp in order.

Their store of food had been almost exhausted on the island, where they had not set their traps and had caught only fish. They still had abundance of flour, however, as well as tea, sugar, tinned milk, and rice; and Kiddie was confident in the prospect of being able soon to add meat to his larder.

On that same evening of their arrival in Lone Wolf Canyon, he went out with his gun and climbed the mountain side in search of game. But he returned to camp without having fired a shot, and with only a capful of thimbleberries as spoil.

"Didn't you see anything?" Rube questioned.

"Oh, yes," said Kiddie, "I saw plenty—a big-horn antelope that was too far away for a shot, a herd of black-tail deer, still farther away, a family of rattlesnakes, a skunk, and a racoon. And you'll be interested to know that there's a pair of white-tail eagles nestin' on one of the crags up the canyon. I got a good view of them from the opposite side."

"I'm goin' ter have a look at those eagles," decided Rube. "I'll go to-morrow evenin' the same time as when you were there, an' when they're likely to be at home."

On the following evening his expedition was interfered with by the fact that earlier in the day Kiddie had stalked and killed a black-tail deer and needed Rube's help in carrying the carcass into camp and cutting it up for venison.

But Rube was not to be denied a sight of the eagles, even if he could not hope to capture an eaglet and take it home with him as a pet.

"I see you're preparin' yourself for a climb up those crags, eh?" said Kiddie on the next afternoon. He spoke without encouragement.

"Yep," Rube nodded. "Any objections t' offer?"

"Not exactly objections," returned Kiddie. "I was only thinkin'."

"A habit you have—thinkin'. What was you thinkin', Kiddie?"

In response, Kiddie looked around at the mountains and the sky.

"Wind's changed," he said. "Looks like rain, don't it? Might keep off till after sunset time, though."

"Guess I'll chance it, anyway," resolved Rube.

Kiddie had told him exactly where the eagles' eyrie was situated and how he might most easily and safely approach it, first by ascending the gradual slope of the mountain and then working his way round on the face of the precipice, and then again ascending by a craggy cleft that would bring him close to the nesting-place. And Kiddie's directions and advice were always too practical to be ignored. Rube followed them exactly.

It would have been well for him if before starting he had also paid more serious heed to Kiddie's suggestion regarding the weather. But Kiddie had not insisted. Like Rube himself, he had not foreseen more than a mere evening shower of refreshing rain.

In Rube's absence, Kiddie occupied himself with the ordinary work of the camp. He was always scrupulously orderly and methodical; never allowing any refuse to accumulate, always regulating the fire to his requirements, washing up after every meal, and having a fixed place for each utensil and for the different kinds of food and stores.

All of his camps were ordered on a similar plan; so much so that one was a duplicate of another, differing only in situation and natural surroundings.

It was the same with his packing. The things that were most urgently needed were always packed last, to be ready to hand on his arrival at a new pitch.

Over his work, Kiddie watched Rube climbing the mountain side, and once or twice he whistled to him to let him know that he was going all right. But very soon Rube disappeared into the brooding gloom of the canyon, and Kiddie continued with his work until every tin-pot shone like silver and the whole camp was faultlessly tidy.

"Queer how fond of that boy I've got to be," he said to himself. "I'm missing him already." He glanced round at the mountain tops and the lowering clouds. "Don't like the look of that mist that's rolling down," he reflected. "He ought to turn back; but I don't suppose he will. Hullo! he's disturbed the eagles! I hope he got a good view of them first."

The majestic pair of birds had taken wing, and were now gliding on seemingly motionless pinions through the misty air. Kiddie watched them as they crossed over the lake, growing smaller and smaller until they became tiny specks in the distance and were lost to sight among the dark ravines of the Rattlesnake Range.

At dusk, when it was time for Rube's return, Kiddie got ready some venison cutlets and chipped potatoes for frying with them for supper. But before beginning his cooking he waited until he should hear Rube's signal call from afar. He sat by the fire listening for it with his eyes bent on the slope of the hill where he expected Rube to appear.

The long minutes went by, but he heard no signal call and saw no sign of his companion. Still, he was not anxious. Rube might be sheltering from the rain under the lee of some rock.

The mist on the mountains thickened, the darkness of night and the drizzling rain blotted out all landmarks.

Kiddie whistled at regular intervals—a long, penetrating whistle it was. He piled more fuel on the fire, so that the glow might serve as a guide. He knew that there would be no use in going out in search of Rube. They might so easily miss each other in these trackless wilds; unless indeed, Rube was hurt and unable to move about. Climbing in the fog among rocks slippery with rain and wet moss, he was likely enough to have missed his footing and injured a limb in his fall.

This thought that Rube was possibly lying helpless on the crags began to worry Kiddie as the night grew late. He blamed himself for having allowed the boy to go forth alone on such a hazardous adventure.

"It's the kind of thing I'd have done myself when I was his age," he reflected. "I can't blame Rube. But I ought to have stopped him from going when I saw that there was rain coming on and saw the mist gathering on the hills. Pity we didn't bring the hound with us after all. Sheila would sure have found him."

Fearing that he might yet have to go out in search of the boy, he cooked his own supper. He had already packed all his stores under the shelter of the wigwam and the canoe, covering the latter with the ground-sheet. He had also lighted the hurricane lamp and suspended it from the top of the totem pole.

He ate his supper in the teepee, but more than once got up from the solitary meal to open the door-flap and look out searchingly in the darkness for signs of Rube.

Towards midnight the light of the moon behind the clouds lessened the surrounding darkness. He could dimly distinguish the mountain ridges, outlined against the sky. The rain had ceased. The mist had lifted from the heights; but it still hung in fantastic layers between the walls of Lone Wolf Canyon.

"If it's only the fog that's kept him, he ought to be back in camp within another hour," he told himself, as the moon broke through a rack of drifting clouds.

He waited for a while, and then renewed his whistling, sending messages in the Morse code, which Rube very well understood.

But no answer came; only the repeated echoes of his own shrill whistle.

An hour went by, and yet another hour.

"Rube's wise in his way," Kiddie meditated. "I guess he's having a sleep up there rather than risk his neck by climbing down that precipice in the dark. There's no moonlight deep down in the canyon. Quite right of him to wait until sunrise."

Thus arguing, Kiddie entered the teepee, dropped the door-flap, and turned into his sleeping-bag.

But he did not sleep. All the while he lay listening and at the same time trying to realize just what had happened to Rube. It was his excellent habit when puzzling out any such problem as this to imagine himself to be the other person and to figure himself in that other person's situation. He did not consider what he himself would do in the circumstances, but what the other, having a different character, would attempt.

And so it was now. He imagined himself to be Rube Carter climbing across the face of a steep precipice overhanging a chasm so deep and narrow that the level strip of rocky ground at the base of it could not be seen. A false step, a slip of foot or hand, would mean a fall to certain death.

But Rube was too good and cautious a climber to make a mistake. He had got near enough to the eagles to startle them into flight, and this had happened just before the mist had rolled down the mountain sides into the canyon.

Now, Rube knew well that to climb down a precipice is always more difficult than the ascent; and that to attempt the descent in a thick mist was doubly perilous. Kiddie argued, therefore, that Rube had either remained where he was when overtaken by the mist, or else that he had climbed farther up the mountain. This, indeed, was in any case the safer way, and although it would mean a long and weary tramp back to camp, still he might be expected soon after daybreak.

From earliest dawn until long after sunrise, Kiddie waited in hope, and when Rube did not return he resolved to go out in search of him.

If Rube were seriously hurt, it would be necessary to take him home to Birkenshaw's with the least possible delay. Kiddie therefore packed up the teepee and the stores in the canoe and left the latter ready for launching. He took his rifle and revolvers with him, filled his haversack with food, and did not neglect to take his pocket box of surgical dressings. In case Rube should return in his absence, he left a message in picture-writing on the paddle of the canoe.

He followed Rube's direction over the shoulder of the mountain, and then began to look for tracks, finding them now and again, and particularly at the point where Rube had left the hill-side to begin his difficult climb across the face of the precipice. Here he had dropped a stick that he had carried, and he had evidently sat down to tighten the thongs of his moccasins. Kiddie had now no doubt of his way. He knew that Rube would instinctively take the easiest and quickest course to the eagles' nest.

He found the place without much difficulty, and had proof in some detached fragments of moss and lichen that Rube had been here in advance of him, and had been able to look down into the eagles' nest, where the female was even now sitting unconcerned on her eggs.

Kiddie did not disturb her, as Rube had probably done. Instead, he searched for signs of Rube himself.

Yes, Rube had not attempted the perilous descent. He had waited until the rain had ceased and the mist had lifted. High up above where he stood, Kiddie saw the scratch of a slipping foot on the wet moss, which showed that Rube had climbed upward. Again, still higher up, there was a similar mark, and above this the way was easy as a step-ladder, needing only very ordinary care, a sure foot, and steady nerves.

At the top of the ascent Kiddie came out upon the farther side of Lone Wolf Mountain, which now interposed between him and Sweetwater Lake. To reach the lake side he must either return as he came, or else cross the next valley and work his way round the base of the mountain. He judged that Rube had not hesitated to take the latter and longer course.

He walked round in a circle, searching for a track in the soft ground, and at last he came upon the impression of Rube's moccasins. He followed their direction. Presently he realized that Rube had been running and that his tracks were leading in quite an unexpected direction.

Greatly wondering, Kiddie went on and on. Then he came to an abrupt stop and stood staring in astonished alarm at the ground. At his feet lay two crumpled up eagle's feathers. A yard or so away from them was Rube's fur cap, pierced by an Indian arrow. And all around were the confused impressions of Indians' feet.

Kiddie drew a long breath as he picked up the boy's hat.

"That's the way of it," he said. "That's why Rube never came back. He's been captured by Indians!"



CHAPTER XV

THE CRY OF THE JAY

Up to the point to which Kiddie had tracked him, Rube Carter had done precisely what Kiddie had conjectured he would do. He had reached the eagles' eyrie just as the mist began to envelop him and cut off his direct retreat.

He had not deliberately startled the birds to flight. The male had been perched like a faithful sentinel on a point of rock, above his mate sitting on her eggs. Rube had a long, close view of the pair of them, and had watched without molesting them. But presently he had the boyish idea that it would be interesting to see and count their eggs, and take note of how their nest was lined.

Cautiously he approached the nest, moving very slowly and stealthily. But the guardian male resented this bold intrusion, and attacked him with beak and talons and fiercely-flapping wings.

Rube drew his revolver, but did not shoot. He used the weapon only as a club with which to defend himself, while he sheltered his body from the assault by crouching low, with his back wedged in a cleft of rock.

The eagle pursued him there and glared at him menacingly. He had what he afterwards called a grand sight of the bird's wonderful clear eyes, its hooked beak, and its wicked-looking claws, and he marvelled at the enormous stretch of its pinions.

Once it made a dash at him, spreading itself close against the wall of rock, covering him like a cloak. He thrust out his free hand to grab at one of its legs, but, missing the leg, he seized hold of its tail, pulling out three of the long white plumes. He crouched still closer in his shelter, where neither beak nor talon could touch him. And soon the eagle drew off.

When at length he raised his head to investigate, he saw the two birds rising through the misty air and flying off together over the mountains.

Rain was now falling heavily, and the mist was thickening. He heard the whisper of the mountain streams growing louder and louder until it became a deep, prolonged murmur. Quite near to him a torrent of brown, foaming water was rushing and leaping down the steep.

Rube knew it would be futile to attempt to return to camp before daybreak. He judged that Kiddie would understand his absence and not worry unduly. So he ate what food he had brought in his haversack, and, regardless of the driving rain, curled himself up to try to sleep.

Once during the long, uncomfortable night he heard from afar, or fancied that he heard, Kiddie's familiar, penetrating whistle. He knew that his own comparatively feeble whistle in response would not carry far enough to be even faintly heard. There were no means by which he could send back an answering signal. No fire smoke or fitful glow could be seen, no cry or call be heard.

Later in the night, when the moon broke through the clouds, he again very faintly caught the sound of Kiddie's whistle; so faintly that he could not distinguish the notes which he believed were being sent forth as a message in the Morse code.

Rube held his breath and listened; but all that he heard now to break the silence of the vast desolation was the weird howl of some far away koshinee—the dreaded buffalo wolf of the prairies.

When the rain had ceased, and the black mountain peaks could be seen against the lesser blackness of the sky, he still thought it prudent to remain where he was.

One of the last things that Kiddie had said to him was: "Be careful. Don't hurry; don't worry," and, rather than risk a climb up the wet and slippery rocks, he again curled himself up and closed his eyes in sleep.

The red dawn was breaking when he awoke shivering with cold. His buckskin clothes were wet and clammy, and his limbs were stiff.

He sat up and looked about him.

The two eagles had returned and were exactly as he had seen them at first, the male keeping sentry on the point of rock above his nested mate. The mountain torrents still babbled. On the farther side of the canyon was a beautiful waterfall as white as chalk against the indigo darkness of the cliff down which it leapt into the unseen depths. The jagged shapes of the mountains were now exceedingly clear, showing alp above alp into the far blue distance.

Rube was excessively hungry. And there was nothing for him to eat, unless indeed he had chosen to make a meal of a fragment of rabbit flesh that had fallen from the eagles' nest.

"Wonder what Kiddie's havin' for breakfast!" he said to himself longingly. "Fried kidney, I expect, outer that stag he shot. Guess he'll be worryin' some 'bout my not bein' back in camp yet. I'd best quit an' get back right away. No; I ain't goin' back the way I come. I'm figurin' as th' easiest an' safest way's ter climb up higher an' then make tracks across Lone Wolf Mountain an' down to the lake. That's what Kiddie'd do, I reckon."

He looked upward, calculating his direction. Before he moved away he picked up his eagle plumes. He had been lying on them; their feathering was ruffled and their quills were fractured. Still, they were worth preserving as trophies of his adventure.

The ascent of the cliff was not difficult, though at first he made two or three awkward slips on the wet moss and lichen. After a while the climbing became quite easy, and he reached the rounded shoulder of Lone Wolf Mountain without difficulty. Here, however—as Kiddie afterwards discovered—he was obliged to make a long detour in order to get to the farther side of the mountain.

Rube started off at a brisk walk, and was in hopes of reaching camp early in the forenoon. The wild desolation of these mountain heights oppressed him. So much so that he was startled by the cry of a jay.

He looked round, thinking it strange that such a bird should live here—here, where there were no trees and none of the smaller animals for a jay to kill and feed upon.

As he turned, he saw a movement beside an outcropping rock. At the same instant something like the buzz of a large insect sounded close over his head. He saw an arrow strike the ground and remain upright, trembling with the impact.

Rube knew now the meaning of the jay's cry. It was not the cry of a bird, but the signal call of an Indian.

He started to run in his original direction, but he had not gone more than a hundred yards when another arrow struck his cap, taking it off. He staggered, then, taking a new direction, ran a few strides, then stopped in hesitation, seeing an Indian rise to his knees, fixing an arrow to his bowstring.

With a quick glance Rube realized that he was surrounded, and that there was no way of escape, no shelter of any sort on the barren mountain side. He drew his revolver as the Redskins closed in upon him.

Just as he was about to press the trigger, he reflected upon the inevitable consequences. They would capture him in any case; he could not escape. But if he killed one of their tribe they would torture him to death; whereas, if he quietly submitted, there would still be a chance of his being set free and unharmed.

The Indians had already seen his pistol, however, and they did not doubt that he intended to use it. They ran swiftly up to him. One approached from behind and seized him by the arms.

Rube struggled, but was soon overpowered and flung to the ground, where his hands were tied to his back. What became of his cap and revolver he did not see, for a greasy, ill-smelling rag was bound tightly over his eyes.

They led him away, forcing him to a quick walk down the mountain side, for miles and miles, it seemed. He often stumbled on the rough ground.

Sometimes he was half-pushed, half-dragged along the rocky side of a watercourse; more than once he was led waist deep across a rushing stream that was icy cold. Then there was a steep climb up another mountain slope and down into a farther valley.

Here the Indians came to a halt. Rube heard the movements of horses, and presently he was lifted and flung over the back of one of them. He managed to get comfortably astride, in spite of his imprisoned hands. Fortunately for himself, he was a good rider and could keep his seat on the pony's bare back without great difficulty.

All the time he was thinking less of his own position as a captive than of Kiddie. He knew very surely that Kiddie would be anxious about him. What would he do? Would he just wait in camp in fretful annoyance?

Rube knew Kiddie pretty well by now; knew that so soon as a reasonable time had gone by he would judge that an accident of some kind had caused the delay, and would set out in search.

"Pity I didn't blaze the trail, somehow," Rube reflected. "Dessay he'll squander heaps of valuable time lookin' fer my dead body along the foot of the cliffs away down in the canyon. Though I reckon he'd foller on my tracks as far's he could. If Kiddie noticed that pair of eagles takin' flight, he'll know it was my bein' near their nest that scared 'em. He'll make for the nest, sure."

Rube was applying Kiddie's method of imagining himself in the other person's place, and, following up this process, he decided that it would not be very long before Kiddie would get on to the track of these Indians.



CHAPTER XVI

THE SIGN OF THE BROKEN FEATHER

When at length the ponies were brought to a halt, Rube was dragged to the ground and left there, lying on his back, with his cramped arms beneath him. He heard the muffled sounds of barking dogs and chattering squaws, and he judged that he had been brought into the Indians' encampment.

Presently he was turned over and his arms were set free, the tight bandage was taken from his eyes.

He sat up and gazed about him wonderingly, with dim sight and aching forehead.

For the first time in his life he was in an Indian village, surrounded by wigwams, all of them similar to Kiddie's teepee, only that his was cleaner and better made, and decorated with more care.

The village was pitched in the midst of a green valley, through which ran a narrow creek, bordered with willows. Horses and cattle grazed on the neighbouring slopes, and an enclosed cornfield and well-beaten trails showed that the Indians lived here permanently.

Near to where he sat were two lodges larger than the rest. They were decorated with many painted devices and trophies of the chase, and in front of each of them was a high totem pole from which grim-looking scalp locks and skulls and bones were suspended. He conjectured that one of these tents would be the chief's wigwam and the other the Medicine Lodge.

None of the Redskins took much notice of him, passing him with a mere glance, or making a remark in a tongue which he did not understand.

A young squaw approached, carrying water. Rube signed to her, asking for a drink. She stopped and stooped to give him one. He then made further easily understood signs to show that he was very hungry. She spoke to him, but he shook his head.

"Wish you c'd speak plain English," he said.

Then the squaw also began to talk in the sign language, and Rube gathered that she did not dare to bring food to a prisoner. Nevertheless, a little later she went past him and dropped within his reach, as if by chance, a fragment of dry buffalo meat, which he ate hungrily.

He was left alone for a long time. But he knew that he was being watched, and that it would be worse than useless for him to attempt to escape.

He saw the young Indian boys at their games of skill, or engaged in competitions with the bow and arrow, horse racing, mounting and dismounting while their bare-backed ponies were at the gallop, throwing the lariat, wrestling and running, and thus training to become braves and warriors.

At about mid-day two of the scouts who had been among his captors came up to him and signed to him to follow them. They led him across a foot-worn patch of grass towards the entrance of the Medicine Lodge, where they came to a halt, standing on guard over him.

Rube wondered what was going to happen; but, watching, he began to understand that the chief warriors and medicine men were within the lodge, and that some sort of court of justice was being held. He further gathered from the picture-writing on the lodge that these Redskins were of the Crow nation, and that the tribal name of their chief was Falling Water.

When at length he was marched into the lodge he saw the councillors seated on the floor in a half-circle round a small fire. All of them wore feathered war bonnets and had their faces painted.

Falling Water himself, a grim, wizen-featured old man, sat in the middle, smoking a tobacco pipe that was shaped like a tomahawk and adorned with coloured beads and feathers. He looked at Rube long and steadily, and then spoke to one of the scouts inquiringly.

Rube could only understand the answer by the gestures and signs that accompanied it. From these and what followed he was able to make up a coherent outline of the offence of which he was being accused.

It appeared that a picket of scouts had been out on the mountains watching for enemy spies. They had captured this one in the very act of spying upon them. He had been making signals, sending messages and answering messages by sounds made with his lips. He carried a gun, and was ready to use it upon them if they had not been too quick for them. And he was disguised. It was clear that he was an Indian—one of their Sioux enemies—who had tried to make himself look like a Paleface. Moreover, he wore the totem sign of his chief, who was the enemy of Falling Water.

Rube was perplexed in his effort to understand this part of the scout's evidence.

He was not surprised that he had been mistaken for a full-blooded Indian. Was not his mother an Indian? And had not both he and Kiddie when they started on their camping trip dressed themselves in fringed buckskins and designedly made themselves look as much as possible like Indians?

He supposed that the scouts picketed on the heights had heard Kiddie's whistle from afar and his own feeble attempt to respond. What puzzled him most was the spokesman's declaration that he wore the totem sign of his chief. For so he understood the scout's gestures.

Falling Water was apparently dissatisfied, for he closely questioned the witness, whose answer, partly in the Crow tongue and partly in pantomime, threw a flood of light upon Rube's perplexity.

Plucking a feather from his own headdress, the scout pinched the quill and bent it over, holding it in position on Rube's head.

This, then, was the totem sign of his supposed chief. And he, Rube Carter, was believed by these Crow Indians to be a spy of their enemy Broken Feather!

He did not know that one of the medicine men had questioned him in the tongue of the Sioux, which, if he were indeed one of Broken Feather's tribe, he ought to have understood. His failure to answer was taken for stubbornness, a sure evidence of his guilt.

Falling Water spoke, holding up a cautioning finger to impose attention to his words. Rube guessed by his serious judicial manner that he was passing a sentence of punishment upon him.

"It's a pity none o' you c'n understand plain, straight-forward English," he protested. "I c'd explain in a jiffy."

"Eh?" cried the medicine man who had addressed him in the Sioux, "you c'n speak English yourself, can you, young 'un?"

Rube looked across at him in astonishment. Surely he was not an Indian, speaking like this! He was an old, old man with a wrinkled face, white hair, and a matted white beard and dim blue eyes. In dress and manner, however, he was very little different from his companions.

"It's the only language that I c'n speak," said Rube.

"Barrin' your own," winked the medicine man. "But you're not the only one of your tribe that can speak English. Broken Feather himself's a dab hand at it, so I hear. A clever scoundrel is Broken Feather. Togged you out like a Paleface and sent you into this reservation to spy around and find out how many braves and warriors we've got, how many war-horses we possess, and how far it's safe for him to come out on the war-trail against us. Well, young 'un, you're caught at it, and you've got to take the consequences, which is as much as to say that you're going to be tortured to death. You asked for plain English, and now you've got it. Quit!"

"But you haven't let me explain," Rube objected hotly.

The old man closed his dim blue eyes and drew his red blanket closer about his shoulders.

"No explanations needed," he grunted.

At a sign from the chief, the scouts dragged Rube forcibly away, and again tied his hands.

They took him into an empty teepee and there bound his legs together and mounted a guard outside so that he could not possibly escape.

No food and no drink were given to him during the rest of the long, weary, monotonous day. He watched a shaft of sunlight moving slowly across the earthen floor of the wigwam until it became a thin streak and then faded.

At dusk a new guard entered—two powerful young Indians with grotesquely painted faces. They loosened the bonds about his legs, but did so only that he might walk as they led him out into a lane broken through a dense crowd of excited braves and squaws and curious children, waiting to witness his torture.

He saw Falling Water with his medicine men and principal warriors in their full war-paint seated in a group in the midst of an open circle of the expectant people. Drums were being beaten, weird Indian songs were being chanted, braves wearing hideous masks were dancing round a blazing fire.

In the middle of the wide ring was the charred stump of a tree, and to this Rube was led. When he came closer, he saw a procession of youths march up, each carrying a large load of faggots. Following them came Indians armed with spears, scalping-knives, bows and arrows, and formidable clubs.

Rube began to feel exceedingly limp. He was trembling from head to foot, though as yet he only guessed at the ominous meaning of these preparations.

Suddenly he was seized from behind and thrust bodily towards the grim execution tree. He struggled, but was overpowered. A blow on the head made his brain reel, and all the strength of his resistance went out of him.

When he came to himself again he found that he was bound by ropes to the tree, and that flames were licking at his feet and legs, while by the light of the fire and through the mist of smoke he saw hideous figures of red men dancing round him, menacing him with their spears and knives and tomahawks.

The fire nipped his shins, the ropes were cutting into his flesh, the sparks and smoke were choking him.

"Kiddie! Kiddie!" he cried aloud in his anguish of body and mind.

And then, from immediately behind him, there came a calm, steady voice—

"All right, Rube; all right. I'm here."

Never, never, though he should live to be a hundred, could Rube Carter forget those magical, unexpected words, coming to him as they did in the most awful moment of his young life!

He did not ask himself just then how it had been possible for Kiddie to find him and to penetrate the crowd of excited Indians unnoticed and unhindered. All that he thought of was that Kiddie was here to rescue him from the torturing death from which there had seemed to be no faintest hope of escape.

But even yet escape had not been achieved.

The rising flames were scorching his legs, the flying sparks were stinging his face and neck, the resinous smoke of the pine wood was stifling him, and the madly-gesticulating Redskins were prodding at him with their long spears and striking at him with their tomahawks to see how nearly they could hit him without yet touching him. They prolonged the process of cruelty to increase his mental suffering; but the delay gave Kiddie his chance.

"Cut the rope, Kiddie—cut the rope!" Rube cried, not knowing that Kiddie's sharp knife had already done its work.

Hardly had he spoken, when a strong arm was flung round him, and he was lifted bodily backward beyond reach of the flames and the menacing weapons of torture. His brain reeled as the supporting arm was withdrawn; he stumbled and sank to the ground.

In his stupor he heard a wild yell from the Redskins robbed of their victim. His eyes nipped painfully, but by the light of the leaping flames he could distinguish Kiddie standing at bay above him, with a revolver in each outstretched hand swinging threateningly from side to side as the Indians made a rush towards him.

Believing that Kiddie's life was now in imminent peril, Rube managed to scramble to his knees. He felt instinctively for his gun, forgetting that it had been taken from him.

But Kiddie was not shooting. Were his pistols empty? Rube wondered. He saw the crowd of Redskins fall back with lowered weapons and sullen looks and hoarse grunts of disappointment.

"Best put them guns out of sight now," Rube heard some one advise. He turned and saw the English-speaking medicine man standing at Kiddie's side. "You've managed all right up to now," the same voice continued. "Boy's not much harmed, by the look of him. You pulled him out just in time, though. Another minute and they'd have been at him like a pack of wolves. Hold hard while I go forward and explain to 'em."

He strode off and harangued the Indians in a loud voice of command.

"Who is he, Kiddie?" Rube was curious to know. "Who and what is he?"

"A man of the name of Simon Sprott," Kiddie told him. "Used to be a friend of Gid Birkenshaw's years ago, when Gid was a lone trapper in Colorado."

"Then he ain't a Crow Injun?"

"Well, he is and he isn't," returned Kiddie, helping the boy to his feet. "When Gid knew him at first he was just an Englishman, come out West on a trip of adventure. Then he got mussin' around with the Redskins, married a squaw, and took the blanket. They made him a chief, calling him Short Nose, and when he became too old to lead the braves on the war trail they made him a boss medicine-man. That's about all I know of him. I ran up against him when I was sneakin' into the village on your track, and it was him that put me wise about what they were doin' to you. I guess you'd a narrow squeak, eh?"

"I just had." Rube nodded. "But all the time I kinder felt as you'd turn up, somehow. I gotter 'normous faith in you, Kiddie. I was plumb certain you'd foller on my tracks, though I didn't blaze no trail."

"You blazed it quite enough for me, Rube," Kiddie averred. "I didn't fool around any, searchin' for your dead body at the foot of the cliffs in Lone Wolf Canyon. The sight of the eagles in flight and, afterwards, the signs of Injuns told me all I needed to know. Say, you didn't make an extra good witness for the defence, else you'd have made 'em understand that you weren't the enemy spy they took you for. Pity you never mentioned the name of Gideon Birkenshaw, or of Buckskin Jack, or even of your own father. Simon Sprott would sure have tumbled to your innocence."

"Dare say," acknowledged Rube. "But how in thunder was I ter know as any of 'em c'd understand English? Simon Sprott never let on that he was anythin' but a pure Injun until after I was condemned."

"You ain't hurt any, I hope?" Kiddie inquired.

"Nope. Shins are some scorched. Moccasins an' leggin's are spoilt, an' my eyes are nippin'. Oh, an' they've took my six-shooter, Kiddie. D'you reckon we c'n get it back?"

"Very likely," said Kiddie. "I'll ask Si Sprott. Here he is comin' back."



CHAPTER XVII

THE RUSE OF THE BUFFALO TRAIL

Simon Sprott approached them, smiling as Indian medicine men are not supposed to smile.

"You'll put up in my lodge until we can get your own outfit brought along," he said. "You'll both be hungry, after what you've gone through. Indian food, cooked by Indians, isn't at all bad."

He conducted them into his teepee, and Rube Carter was surprised to see how comfortably furnished it was, with a camp bed and washing-stand, a table and two or three chairs, as well as a stove, and even a shelf of books.

Simon Sprott looked at Kiddie in deliberate scrutiny.

"Friend of Gid Birkenshaw's, you tell me?" he said very slowly. "And the son of Buckskin Jack. Well, Gid and me, we was pals years and years ago, trapping up on the head waters of the Platte. Yes, and afterwards, when he'd settled down in his ranch on the Sweetwater, I seem to remember a nipper that he'd bought from an Indian and adopted. Dare say it was yourself. What was the name he'd given you? Little Cayuse, was it?"

"Quite right," answered Kiddie. "That was me, sure. And you mended my wheelbarrow and taught me how to throw the lariat."

"As for Buckskin Jack," continued Sprott, "there never was any one like him. Best all-round scout I've ever known, Red or White; and the truest gentleman. English, too, he was, and that means a lot to me—a lot it means. I'm proud to meet the son of Buckskin Jack. And if there's anything I can do for you, just name it."

"Thank you, Simon," returned Kiddie. "But you've done enough in helping me to rescue young Rube here. We'll stay the night in your camp and then get back to our canoe and home to Sweetwater Bridge."

"What's your all-fired hurry?" questioned Simon. "You'll stay as long as ever you like. It can't be as long as I should like. Stay a while for my sake. Just consider. It's years since I've heard my mother tongue spoken as you speak it, and I'm sore longing to have a chat with a friend who isn't a Crow Indian. Your young partner'd like to stay, if I know anything of boyhood. The adventure would suit him, and to-morrow the Crows are going out on a buffalo hunt. A big herd has been seen, back of Washakee Peak."

Kiddie glanced towards Rube.

"Like to go buffalo huntin', Rube?" he asked.

"Wouldn't I just!" Rube answered. "But you'll come, too, won't you?"

"Oh, yes," Kiddie agreed.

Rube was so hungry after his long fast that he considered the Indian food quite delicious, and he ate heartily.

After the meal he wandered out of the lodge; but there was little for him to see except the dark shapes of the wigwams and here and there a group of silent Indians seated round their camp fire; and so he returned and took comfortable refuge between the blankets and buffalo robes provided for him by one of Simon Sprott's attendant braves.

Before he fell asleep, however, he listened to the conversation between Kiddie and their host.

"He's got spies everywhere," Simon was saying. "Yes, even among the trappers, even working among the cowboys on the ranches. Many of the cowboys themselves are in his pay, stealing horses for him from the outlying corrals, or smuggling firearms into his reservation. For, as a rule, he gets others to do his dirty work for him. Naturally, we've got scouts as well as he, and we're not ignorant of his strength or his intentions."

Rube knew by now that it was of Broken Feather that they were speaking.

"If all I've heard of him is true," said Kiddie, "he has as strong a following as any chief within a week's ride. As for his intentions, I don't pretend to have any special knowledge, excepting that he's a man who thinks a tremendous lot of himself and has the ambition to be a great military genius like Sitting Bull or Red Cloud."

"That's just the point," resumed Simon Sprott. "And to achieve his ambition, he's aiming at conquering the smaller tribes, one by one—Crows, Blackfeet, Arapahoes, Pawnees. But the Crows first of all. Any day he may lead his army on the war trail against us, here in the Falling Water Reserve."

"If you're certain of that, why not be the first to attack?" suggested Kiddie. "You could take him by surprise."

Short Nose grunted deep in his throat and shook his head.

"Unfortunately," he answered, "the Crows have no warrior capable of planning and carrying out such an enterprise. It'll be as much as we can do to defend our village when we ourselves are attacked. Now, if Buckskin Jack were here——!"

There was a long spell of silence in the lodge, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Rube had closed his heavy eyes when he again heard Kiddie's voice.

"Tell me this, Simon," said Kiddie, seeming to change the subject from warfare to hunting. "Exactly how did you learn of that herd of buffalo, back of Washakee Peak?"

Simon Sprott was meditatively puffing at his tobacco pipe; but he paused to answer—

"Word was brought in by one of our scouts."

"Did that scout see the herd with his own eyes?" Kiddie pursued.

"Well, no; I believe not," Simon answered absently. "A lone trapper on Box Elder Creek gave him the information; said it was the biggest herd seen on these hunting grounds for many summers back."

"Trapper might have been one of Broken Feather's spies," Kiddie suggested very quietly.

"Eh?" Simon Sprott looked up sharply and blew a long, slow jet of smoke from his lips.

"It's possible," he acknowledged; "quite possible, but not just likely. And why should the trapper, if he was a spy, tell the scout that the buffalo were there, and even recommend the hunt?"

"Yes, why?" Kiddie asked. "For my own part, I don't believe that there's a herd of buffalo within a hundred miles of Washakee Peak. I guess the trapper had his instructions to tell that story, just to get your warriors out on the buffalo trail, leaving your village undefended for Broken Feather to make his unopposed attack upon it in your absence."

Simon Sprott stared at Kiddie in amazement.

"That's cute," he said, "very cute indeed of you to hit upon such an idea. It's just the sort of idea that Buckskin Jack himself might have sprung out of that wonderful brain of his. I believe you're right. Broken Feather would do a cunning thing like that. It's quite in his line. Nothing more likely. In any case, the Crows are going to alter their programme. All preparations for the buffalo surround are complete. You and friend Rube there were to have had a great time. But that buffalo hunt isn't going to come off."

When Rube Carter awoke the following morning he found himself alone in the teepee, and might have believed himself to be back in Kiddie's camp on Sweetwater Lake but for the medley of sounds that came to him through the open door-flap.

He heard the neighing of horses, the barking of dogs, and the high-pitched voices of squaws and children.

He listened sleepily for a while. Just outside of the lodge a party of young braves were quarrelling for possession of a cooking-pot.

"For people who have the reputation of bein' silent, Injuns are capable of makin' a heap of noise," Rube said to himself, "I never heard such a racket in all my days."

He sat up and reached for his moccasins, and was surprised to find his lost fur cap, with the bedraggled eagle's feathers in it, lying beside them. His revolver also had been restored to him.

He was examining the injury done by the fire to his leggings and moccasins when he heard Kiddie's voice from outside raised almost to a shout of command, as if he were drilling a company of soldiers. Rube flung his blankets aside and crept across the floor to look out. What he saw astonished him greatly.

The wide open space in front of the chief's lodge was now crowded with mounted Indians, in full war paint, drawn up in regular ranks. Apart from them, and halted in a group facing them, were Falling Water and his principal warriors, all wearing their feathered war bonnets and armed with rifles, clubs, and tomahawks.

Falling Water, mounted on a fine black mustang, carried his great staff of high office, decorated with coloured beads and fringed with scalp-locks. He looked very magnificent and dignified, and younger than Rube had at first supposed him to be.

But it was the rider at the chief's side—a rider astride of a lank, piebald prairie pony—who arrested Rube's closest attention. There were but two feathers in his simple war bonnet, which was partly hidden by his blue-and-white blanket. His back was towards Rube, who could not see his face or know if it was painted with vermilion, but by his seat on horseback and the way he held himself Rube instantly knew that it was Kiddie.

Kiddie was giving commands to the Crows in their own language. Clearly he had been placed in authority over them as their general and field-marshal—he who, hardly twelve hours before, had crept secretly into their camp, an unknown trespasser!

Rube Carter marvelled at the strangeness of the situation, though not for an instant did he doubt Kiddie's fitness and ability. In Rube's estimation there was nothing great and honourable that Kiddie was incapable of doing.

Rube wanted to go up to Kiddie now and ask him how this transformation had all come about; but he did not dare. Instead, he stood watching Kiddie riding slowly along the files, inspecting them, followed by Falling Water, Short Nose, and the principal warriors.

It was not until after Rube had washed and made himself tidy that he had a chance of speaking with Kiddie. They were then at breakfast, or what passed for breakfast in the Indian encampment. As a matter of fact, it was an enormous feast that was served to them, of buffalo steak, beaver tail, prairie chicken, stewed berries, and great quantities of rich new milk, with all the other luxuries that the attentive Crows could lavish upon them.

"Looks as if they'd bin turnin' you into a boss war chief, Kiddie," Rube began. "Some sudden on their part, ain't it?"

"Well, yes," returned Kiddie, "it's certainly sudden, seeing that I'm just a stranger among 'em. But you see, it's this way. After you'd gone to sleep last night, one of Falling Water's scouts came in, reportin' that the story of the herd of buffalos was all a made-up affair. He'd been on a big scout round about the Broken Feather Agency, and he was able to prove that Broken Feather and his warriors and braves were busy gettin' ready to come out on the war-path against the Crows. The expedition's timed to start so as to be right here while the Crows are out huntin' imaginary buffaloes."

"Just your own idea," commented Rube, "the same idea to a tick! And so the Crows are fixin' up things to be ready for the defence, I conclude?"

"Not exactly that," Kiddie corrected. "They're goin' ter strike the first blow by makin' a surprise attack on the Sioux. They're not figurin' to wait until Broken Feather makes the assault."

"But then," Rube objected, "didn't Short Nose—otherwise Simon Sprott—say last night that the Crows hadn't a warrior capable of undertakin' such an expedition?"

"Seems he's changed his mind," said Kiddie.

Rube scratched the back of his ear, which was his habit when thinking deeply.

"Somethin' new, eh, t' get a English nobleman ter lead a band of painted Redskins on the war-path?" he said. "Though I reckon you c'n do it if anyone can. 'Tain't as if you was a tenderfoot at the business."

"Feel inclined to come along with us, Rube?" Kiddie casually inquired. "You c'n keep in the rear, you know."

"I shall keep right back in the rear if that's where you are goin' t' be yourself, Kiddie," returned Rube. "I'm figurin' t' be alongside o' you wherever you are. When d' we make a start?"

"As soon as you're ready," Kiddie intimated, "for I see you're determined to be with us. I oughtn't to allow you; but I think you may be of use, and if you come through it all right it will be a great experience for you. I've found a good pony for you and an apology for a saddle. Your own rifle would have been handy if you'd brought it. The Crows have none light enough. Don't neglect to take cartridges for your six-shooter. And if the battle comes off, don't expect me t' be looking after you all the time."

"I understand," Rube acquiesced. "You've gotter concentrate on defeatin' Broken Feather, and you mustn't be worried thinkin' of my safety. Well, all right. I shall not interfere with you any."

Rube was certainly determined to be present in the expected battle. He considered it a more than ample substitute for the mythical buffalo hunt.

He did not speak with Kiddie again for many hours. But he saw him frequently, riding at the head of the long procession of mounted Indians.

The Crows were divided into three armies—the first commanded by Kiddie, the second by Falling Water, and the third by Short Nose. They rode in single file, with scouts in front and rear and on either flank. Towards noon there was a halt on the banks of Poison Spider Creek, and the march had not yet been renewed when Kiddie sent Rube out alone to scout for possible signs of the enemy outposts.

Rube had not gone many miles in advance when on crossing the ridge of a range of foothills he looked down upon the wide rolling prairie beyond and saw a vast, well-ordered army of the Sioux, moving very quickly and in numbers far surpassing the forces of the Crows, whom it was evident they had come out to meet.

Making a rapid calculation of their strength, Rube rode back at top speed and reported his significant discovery to Kiddie.

This unexpected news that the enemy were out of their reservation and making a forced march towards Falling Water's encampment caused an entire change of plan. The coming conflict was not to be a mere surprise attack on Broken Feather's village, but a pitched battle in the open. Kiddie, however, was equal to the occasion.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE BATTLE OF POISON-SPIDER CREEK

Rube Carter, who was the only person in Falling Water's army who had actually seen the approaching enemy, and who knew beyond a doubt how greatly the Sioux outnumbered the Crows, had the impression that Kiddie must now decide either to beat a hasty retreat, and thus avoid the battle, or else advance and suffer an inevitable defeat.

There was a hurried council of war, in which Kiddie appeared to hold the ruling influence; but Rube did not know the result of the conference. Neither did he pretend to have an opinion of his own, as to what the Crows had best do. He was satisfied to watch Kiddie. But it was with relief that he presently saw all three of Falling Water's divisions retiring over the level prairie ground, which they had recently quitted, beside Poison Spider Creek.

He supposed that they were returning to defend their wigwams. But they were not making for the fording place by which they had previously crossed the creek.

When the creek was reached there was a halt, and a large section of the army disappeared into ambush, while the remainder rearranged their ranks and examined their ponies and their weapons.

Rube was perplexed. Were they going to engage the enemy after all?

Scouts who had been sent out returned with the report that the enemy was quickly advancing through a gap in the foothills. They would soon appear in sight.

Leaving his reserves in ambush, Kiddie now led his own division slowly forward across the plain, the armies of Falling Water and Short Nose forming his right and left wings, well in his rear.

He had covered hardly half the distance between the creek and the near foothills when the Sioux appeared, emerging like a huge serpent through the gap. They were riding in single file, across the Crows' line of march, clearly with the purpose of surrounding them and cutting them off from the ford. They continued in a straight, unbending column, but were still beyond range, when suddenly the Crows halted, turned right about face, and retired once again in the direction of the creek, apparently unwilling to engage so formidable an enemy.

For the first time in his experience Rube Carter suspected Kiddie of cowardice, or at least of indecision. If he were not meaning to fight, why had he not retreated earlier, while there was time to escape?

To the Sioux, as well as to Rube Carter, it must have appeared that Falling Water was owning himself defeated before even a blow had been struck.

Kiddie, however, was but following out his own plan of campaign. He was manoeuvring his forces for position. While appearing to be in retreat, he was keeping his divisions in perfect order, and at the same time alluring the Sioux towards that part of the plain which he had chosen for his battle ground. His reserves had already secured possession of the ford, and they were ready to join in the battle if their support should be needed.

The crucial moment came when the leading warriors of the Sioux' long column were level with the rear of Kiddie's division.

Then, as by a pre-arranged plan of action, the Crows wheeled round to a new position, the three divisions joining and forming an unbroken semi-circle confronting the Sioux, and completely heading them off from the ford to which they had been advancing.

So quickly and so accurately was the manoeuvre performed, that the Sioux might well have been astounded. The result of it was that the Crows had concentrated the whole of their strength against less than half the forces of their enemy, whose files from the centre back to the rear were wholly out of action.

Urging their ponies to the full gallop, the Crows charged down upon the Sioux like a hurricane, assailing them with bullets and arrows as they swept into close contact.

The Sioux were not prepared for this sudden change of front, but they made the best of the situation by a quick turn, which brought them face to face with the attacking hordes, while the rear of their long column, issuing from the gap in the hills, broke off from the centre, with the purpose of surrounding the Crows' third division.

Falling Water's army might thus have been adroitly caught between two fires, had it not been for Kiddie's forethought in sending his reserves to the support of his right wing. It accordingly followed that, while numerically the inferior force, the Crows continued to hold the great advantage they had gained by concentrating their strength upon a weak point at the most fitting moment.

Rube Carter saw but little of the battle. He was not called upon to engage in the actual fighting. Instead, he acted as a messenger, or dispatch rider.

Just as the turning movement was being made, Kiddie sent him to the rear to order the reserves to break cover, and advance across the plain to the support of Short Nose. This order he delivered by means of signs and gestures, which were well understood and very promptly obeyed.

Rube then rode back to a spot where Kiddie had told him to wait, and it was from here that he watched as much as could be seen of the progress of the battle.

When the two conflicting sides were apart, he could realize the meaning of all they did. He saw the Crows advancing to surround the van of their enemy; he saw the Sioux turn sharply to confront them. And then, with a loud thudding of horses' hoofs, the two contending armies rushed one at the other in a rising cloud of prairie dust.

There was a crackle of rifle fire, mingled with thrilling war-cries and wild, barbaric yells. Arrows flew from side to side, making a visible arch between.

As the rifle fire lessened at close quarters the yells and shouts grew louder and fiercer. And now Rube lost all power of distinguishing one side from the other, for it was all one vast mass of horses and men, swaying this way and that in wild confusion.

It seemed to Rube that even the horses were fighting, for they were rearing and plunging, kicking and biting, as they forced themselves through the crowd. Many of them fell, many were riderless. Some of them had two or even three Indians mounted on their backs, wielding their clubs and tomahawks.

Through the dust and powder-smoke Rube could see that the ground was thickly strewn with killed and wounded horses and men. There were wide gaps in what had been the ranks, but no order was kept, and the combatants broke off into dense groups. Here and there a chief or important warrior would draw off his section, rallying and forming them into line for a new attack, again to become mixed up in a grand scrimmage.

Rube could distinguish the chiefs by their feathered war bonnets, and amongst them he thought he recognized the young chief Broken Feather riding to and fro in the rear of his warriors as if urging them to new movements or increased effort.

Kiddie was not so easily to be distinguished, as he wore only a very simple head-dress, but Rube, knowing him by his piebald prairie pony, saw him once or twice in the forefront of the battle, and again leading a retirement to take up a fresh position on the field where the fighting was most severe.

Then for a long time there was no sign of Kiddie, and Rube began to fear that he had been killed or seriously wounded. So much did this fear oppress him that he resolved to risk his own safety by riding forward to make a search. He knew that Kiddie's main object in posting him here where he waited was to keep him out of danger. But what if Kiddie himself were in danger, or badly wounded, and needed help?

Rube Carter had often said that what he wanted more than anything else was to be of vital help to Kiddie in some situation of great peril, and the idea that such a situation was now at hand so took possession of him that caution and obedience alike were put aside. With the impulsive recklessness of boyhood, he started off to search for Kiddie in the very midst of the fighting. He had only the very vaguest notion of where Kiddie might be. He was aiming at getting to the place where he had last seen him riding at the head of a large company of the Crows to encounter an equally large company of the Sioux. The fighting at this point had now ceased, and the ground was covered with dead and dying horses and fallen warriors.

Rube did not reflect that his mount was a trained Indian war-horse, accustomed to the excitement of battle, and when he tugged and pulled at the halter rein to make the pony stop and let him dismount to go on foot amongst the wounded, the animal tossed its mane and galloped on and on to join a troop of its fellows charging across the battle front.