All Rube's efforts to keep out of the actual fighting were useless. Wholly against his will he was carried into it. Arrows and spears were flying about his head; bullets hummed past him; he saw tomahawks raised aloft to strike at him.

Suddenly the horse immediately in front of him staggered and rolled over. Rube's own mount reared and swerved to clear the obstacle. His knees lost their grip, and he was thrown to the ground.

The long halter rope, wound round his wrist, almost wrenched out his arm. He was dragged for a little distance, but his hand was open, and the loops of the lariat uncoiled themselves as the horse plunged onward, leaving him behind.

The fighting continued round about him for a while, but the Crows pressed their enemies back and back until none remained excepting those who had lost their horses; and these, instead of following the battle on foot, went among the killed and wounded collecting scalp locks.

Some of the braves seized riderless ponies, leapt on their backs, and galloped off to join the throng. Rube also looked round in search of a pony that might carry him back to the rear. There was one not many yards away, tugging at the halter that held it.

Rube rose to his knees, only to realize that in his fall he had injured his hip, and could not even crawl. How, then, could he hope to mount a strange horse without help?

He was still on his knees, trying to rise to his feet, when something like the sting of a whip struck his right cheek and ear. He put up his hand to his face, and drew it away wet and stained. The warm crimson moisture trickled down his neck, and dripped from his chin. He opened and shut his mouth.

"Gee!" he exclaimed ruefully. "Seems I'm wounded. Jaw ain't put outer gear, though. Might ha' bin worse—heaps worse."

"Lie down flat, Rube! Lie down flat!"

It was Kiddie's voice. Rube instinctively obeyed the command, without even looking round to see where the voice had come from. But as he prostrated himself, he glanced forward and saw quite near to him a young Sioux chief mounted on a fine black horse, and wearing a magnificent feathered war-bonnet.

It was Broken Feather.

The chief was aiming with his revolver at a mark beyond where Rube lay. He pressed the trigger; but the chambers were empty, the cartridges all spent; and when no shot followed, he gripped the gun by its muzzle end, flung back his arm, and threw the weapon from him with all his force.

Rube had turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and now, just at the moment when the weapon was thrown, he saw Kiddie stretch out his hand and adroitly catch it, as he might have caught a cricket ball. Kiddie, still riding the same lank, piebald prairie pony; still unhurt in the battle; still cool and self-contained.

"So it's you—you—that have been leading these Crows against me?" snarled Broken Feather, with an angry scowl.

"Well," returned Kiddie, dropping the chief's revolver and drawing back his hand under his blanket; "you may take it that way if you choose. It seems I'm here. Anyhow, I guess you're pretty well beaten this time."

Broken Feather had seized the haft of his tomahawk, and was holding his bridle rein ready to make a desperate charge forward to a hand to hand encounter.

But Kiddie had foreseen his intention.

"Steady, there, steady!" he cried, quickly withdrawing his hand and levelling his fully-loaded six-shooter at a point between Broken Feather's eyes. "Put up your hands! You can't get at me before my bullet reaches you, see?"

For many moments Broken Feather stared at the shining ring of steel in front of Kiddie's steadily held hand. He saw Kiddie's finger twitching against the trigger, and knew for a certainty that Kiddie would not hesitate to shoot if his command were disobeyed.

"Put up your hands," Kiddie reiterated.

Broken Feather's tomahawk was now hanging by its thong from his wrist. Slowly and very reluctantly he raised his two empty hands above his head.

"Right," Kiddie nodded, lowering his weapon, but still keeping it turned in the same direction. "You've saved your precious life. And now you'd best call off your warriors before there's any more blood spilt. D'you understand? Put an end to this needless battle, and quit right away, with what's left of your army. You're tryin' to fly a bit too high, my man. But you're not made big enough. Give up tryin'. Go back to your reservation, and try to live a decent, honourable life of peace and usefulness."

Broken Feather drew down his hands, and folded his arms across his chest, sitting very upright astride of his horse.

"I have not asked advice from you, Lord St. Olave," he said.

"It isn't advice I'm giving you," returned Kiddie. "It's a command. Draw off your warriors right now, and quit, while you have the chance."

He again raised his weapon, and urged his pony a few steps nearer. But Broken Feather did not wait. Seizing his bridle, he pulled his mustang round and galloped away.

Kiddie then advanced to where Rube Carter was lying. He dismounted.

"Why did you let him off like that, Kiddie?" Rube asked, one hand up to his wounded cheek. "You might have shot him easy. Why don't you go after him?"

"What?" said Kiddie, going down on his knees; "and leave you here, without help? Not likely. My! you do look pretty, with all that blood about your face. Take away your hand, and let's have a look at where you're hurt. What's become of your pony?"

"Dunno," Rube answered feebly. "I was thrown, an' he ran off on his own. I've hurt my hip some. Don't think I c'n walk. Wound on my cheek ain't much, is it, Kiddie?"

"Nothing serious," Kiddie told him, taking out his pocket case. "A strip or two of stickin' plaster 'll fix it up till we get home. Bullet went very near your eye, though. Say, how d'you happen to be here? I expected to find you away back there, where I told you to wait. Got tired of waitin', I guess."

"Don't blame me, Kiddie; I didn't think you really wanted me ter stop thar. An' when the fightin' was at its worst, I got anxious about you; figured as you might be badly wounded an' needin' help, or—or even that you might be killed. So I came along ter search for you, see?"

"Yes, Rube, I see," nodded Kiddie. "And instead of you finding me, it was I who found you, eh? Well, I'm real sorry to disappoint you, but it can't be helped."

"No; but it's allus the same," Rube regretted. "It's allus you that helps me. How many times have you saved my life since we come out on this yer trip? I never get half a chance to save yours. Never!"

"Keep your face still, can't you?" ordered Kiddie. "How d'you expect me ter fix up this cut on your cheek if you keep on waggin' your jaw?"

He was not long over the operation of getting a pad of lint on the wound and binding a rough bandage round Rube's head. Then he stood up.

"Now let me give you a leg up on to my pony," he said.

"What about yourself?" objected Rube. "Ain't yer goin' to do any more fightin'? The battle ain't finished yet."

"Fightin'?" repeated Kiddie. "Oh, no; not now. I'm going to take you back to the rear. Besides, it wouldn't be at all gentlemanly if I were to continue fightin' after having told Broken Feather that he must put an end to it all."

He stopped and lifted Rube bodily from the ground, planting him securely astride the piebald pony, which he led away across ground that was thickly strewn with dead and wounded Indians and horses. Rube's injured hip was exceedingly painful; every movement of the pony gave him a new twinge; but he bore the pain stoically, not wishing to let Kiddie know how much he was hurt.

Near the fording place they came to a halt. Rube was left lying on a blanket while Kiddie, re-mounting the piebald, rode back to the battlefield to put a stop to all scalping and mutilating and looting, to attend to the wounded, and to draw off the Crows as Broken Feather had drawn off the Sioux.

Amongst the dead and wounded Crows he discovered Simon Sprott kneeling at the side of the chief Falling Water, whose body had been pierced by a dozen arrows.

"Poor old Falling Water's done in, Little Cayuse," Simon announced. "He's gone right away to the Happy Hunting Grounds. But I guess he'd a big thought for you just before he started on the Long Trail. Asked me to thank you for leading the Crows to victory, he did."



CHAPTER XIX

KIDDIE'S ANSWER

It was late in the evening when the surviving Crows arrived in their village. Rejoicings over their victory were mingled with lamentations over the death of their chief—ceremonies in which neither Kiddie nor Rube took any personal interest.

They were both lying very weary and silent on a pile of soft buffalo robes within their teepee, when Simon Sprott entered, accompanied by several of the warriors and counsellors.

"We've been having a big talk," began Simon Sprott. "We've lost our chief, and the Crows have elected a successor. Their choice of Little Cayuse was quickly made." He saluted Kiddie. "And we're hoping you won't refuse."

Kiddie looked puzzled. He glanced round at Rube.

"Well?" said Rube. "Chief of the Crow nation. That's what they're offerin' you. Why don't you answer?"

Kiddie stood irresolute.

"Why don't you answer?" Rube repeated, impressed by the importance of the occasion. He was very much interested in the deputation of Indians waiting so patiently for Kiddie's decision.

Kiddie still looked puzzled, as if he had difficulty in making up his mind concerning the offer that had been made to him to become the head chief and lawman of the Crow nation.

"There's no need for you to hurry, Little Cayuse," said Simon Sprott. "Take your own time to consider the proposition. Think about it deeply, all round, from all sides. The Crows will wait. They will leave you alone with your own thoughts. They do not ask for your answer right now. They would wish you to sleep upon it. When the sun has risen over Washakee Peak they will come again into the wigwam of Little Cayuse. He will then give them his answer. If it is Yes, they will rejoice; all the Crow nation will be glad. If it is No, their hearts will be heavy. For Little Cayuse alone is the leader they would follow and obey. I have spoken. What I have said is said by all the Crows."

He turned to his companion medicine men and warriors, and told them what he had said. Then he took from one of them a magnificent war bonnet of white eagles' plumes, and from another a robe of soft doeskin adorned with beautiful designs in coloured beads and porcupine quills and needlework in brilliant silk. From a third he took a chief's staff of office, and from a fourth a pair of richly-decorated moccasins. All these he spread with great ceremony at Kiddie's feet, evidently expecting him to wear them when next he should appear in public.

Kiddie bowed to them as the counsellors filed slowly out of the lodge. When they had closed the door-flap behind them he turned round to Rube Carter.

"Feelin' better now, Rube?" he asked. "I'll dress that cut on your cheek again, 'fore you go to sleep. Dunno about your hip. Is it painin' you?"

"Some," Rube answered. "But don't you worry. I ain't thinkin' about my wounds. I'm thinkin' about you. What's the matter with that head-dress? Ain't you goin' ter put it on, and lemme see how you look in it? What about a dress rehearsal?"

Kiddie shook his head.

"Gee!" exclaimed Rube. "Ain't you figurin' ter take it on, then—this boss chieftainship that they've offered you?"

"Not I," said Kiddie, very decisively.

"Made up your mind against it?"

"Yes. I'd made up my mind before Short Nose began to speak. I'd guessed what was coming."

"Um!" murmured Rube. "Dunno whether t' be glad or sorry. Why didn't you tell 'em, Kiddie?"

"Because they wouldn't have liked it if I'd said No right at once. Much better to let them suppose that I'm hesitatin', wonderin' over it, weighin' the proposition in a balance. Why, Rube, you didn't think for a moment that I would take it on, did you?"

Rube shrugged his shoulders.

"You might have done what Broken Feather's tryin' to do," said Rube. "You might have made yourself as great a chief as Red Cloud or Sitting Bull. Besides, it's a biggish thing ter be a Injun chief. Next door t' bein' a king."

Kiddie smiled.

"I might have been an Injun chief years an' years ago," he remarked. "But my ambitions don't lie in that direction. See?"

"Of course," Rube nodded. "I was forgettin' that you're a English nobleman, with a seat in the House of Lords. I'm allus forgettin' that. But what d'you mean t' do, Kiddie—now, I mean? Ain't you goin' ter stop here just for a week or two, an' see what it feels like t' be a Injun chief?"

"No." Kiddie turned to his blankets. He was very tired. "No," he repeated. "I'm goin' to stay until you're well enough to be moved. Then we shall find the canoe and our outfit, and go right back home to Sweetwater Bridge."

"Trip comin' to an abrupt conclusion, eh?" queried Rube.

"That's about the size of it," nodded Kiddie. "The fine weather won't hold out much longer, and I guess there's a whole heap of letters waitin' for me to answer 'em."

"Well, anyhow, we've seen an' done a good deal, an' had a few adventures," Rube concluded, holding himself so that Kiddie might apply a fresh pad of lint and a new bandage to his wounded cheek.

Kiddie left the head-dress and other garments where Simon Sprott had placed them. But in the early morning Rube Carter awoke to see him wearing the doeskin robe and moccasins, and in the act of covering his head with the great war bonnet.

"What, changed your mind?" cried Rube. "Goin' ter be a chief after all?"

Kiddie did not answer. He had got the two long feathered streamers of the head-dress twisted behind his back, and was trying to disentangle without injuring them.

"Get dressed and go outside to watch the ceremony," he ordered. "There's a couch of buffalo robes near the door, and you won't need to limp very far."

When Rube went out, he found the open space in front of the principal lodges crowded with warriors and braves. They were all on foot, but half a dozen of them held as many chosen war horses, which were to be presented to the new chief. The war-chiefs and medicine men were seated by the totem pole in a half-circle, facing the crowd.

Suddenly they rose to their feet, and bowed as Kiddie strode forth from his lodge, looking extremely tall and dignified and handsome in his picturesque Indian dress.

Murmurs of admiration ran through the throng of waiting braves. Drums were beaten and minstrels gang a weird, crooning chant as he advanced.

Rube's gaze was fastened upon Kiddie. He would not have understood, even if he had listened to what Simon Sprott said to the Crows. He supposed that it was merely a public declaration of the election of Little Cayuse as successor to Falling Water. For at the close of Simon's speech there was a prolonged hubbub of acclamation.

Kiddie then strode forward, with his left hand clasping the staff of office, the morning sunlight shining on his face and on the pure white plumes of his magnificent head-dress. He spoke to the Crows in their own tongue, in a clear, loud voice.



"Warriors, braves," he said, "Little Cayuse is proud that the Crows have asked him to be their war chief. The Crows are a mighty nation, rich in horses and in buffalo robes. They love peace, but they do not fear war. It is a great thing to be their chief, to make their laws, to lead them in battle. Little Cayuse is glad that they think him worthy to take the place of Falling Water. He has searched his heart for his answer. His thoughts have been long; but he has reached the end of them. They have been deep; but he has seen through them as through clear water. He has decided. His medicine has told him that it is not for Little Cayuse to be the chief of the Crow nation. He is not a Crow Indian. He is not of their blood. His medicine is not their medicine, or his totem their totem. He is a stranger among them. As a stranger he came. As a stranger he will go away. I have spoken."

Then slowly he removed his war bonnet, put aside his staff, and began to untie the thongs of his doeskin shirt.

"Ah!" cried Simon Sprott, stepping forward, and speaking in English. "I guessed it would be that way. But hold hard. Don't take off your robes. They're yours, and you're still a chief. There's no going back on it. You've been elected. Naturally you don't feel like living the rest of your days amongst a tribe of Redskins. I don't wonder at it. There's a way out, however. The Crows are disappointed. Their hearts 'll be heavy for many a long day. But they'll understand. And if you don't see your way to doing what they want, you'll at least consent to being what you might call an honorary chief. Eh? How'll that suit?"

Kiddie willingly agreed to this arrangement, and accordingly he again wore the feathered head-dress and duly acted his part in the ceremonies connected with his initiation.



CHAPTER XX

FOUL PLAY

"Now, as you're here, Kiddie, an' we're all so comfortable, an' so interested in all you've got ter tell us 'bout this yer campin' trip, what d'yer say ter stoppin' the night along of us?"

Kiddie looked across at Gideon Birkenshaw.

"Dunno, Gid," he answered lightly. "Only I was hankerin' to go down an' have a look at the cabin."

"Cabin's all right," objected Gideon. "Cabin won't run away. What's the good of goin' down thar, a cold dark night like this? Better by far wait till mornin', an' see it by daylight. Rooms haven't bin dusted, beds haven't bin aired, fires ain't lighted. Supper 'll be ready soon, an', say, thar's a great pile o' letters lyin' waitin' for you on the window ledge back of you."

Kiddie turned and glanced at the formidable pile, but he did not move to open any of the letters.

"Oh, all right, Gid," he said, flinging a leg over the arm of the easy-chair in which he was sitting. "I'll stay. Of course I'll stay."

He had brought the canoe ashore in the creek at Grizzly Notch, instead of at his own landing-place nearer the cabin. Rube's injured leg was still painful, and he had to be helped up the steep trail to Birkenshaw's camp. So Kiddie had not yet visited his wood-land retreat.

There was a large party of them at supper. In addition to Abe Harum, Tom Lippincott and Jake Paterson, Sheriff Blagg had dropped in on his way home down the trail from Three Crossings, where he had been to look at a bunch of horses. During the meal Kiddie was very quiet. It was Rube Carter who did most of the talking, and who told them of the battle of Poison Spider Creek and of Kiddie's election as chief of the Crows.

"I ain't any surprised at Kiddie's refusin' ter take on the chief business," commented Gideon.

"Not but what he'd make a tip-top Injun chief," added Isa Blagg. "But I'm figurin' as the time's gone by for a lay-out of that sort. Thar ain't liable t' be any more Injun wars an' mutinies, an' thar's no need fer another Sitting Bull. Buffalo huntin's played out, too. Buffaloes are 'most all killed off. All that's left for the Redskin is to turn his mind to agriculture, an' thar's heaps of men c'n teach 'em husbandry better'n Kiddie could."

"That's so, Isa; that's so," agreed Kiddie.

"Say, Sheriff," interposed Rube; "have you gotten any news ter tell us about that Sanson T. Wrangler business that brought you t' our camp t' get Kiddie's advice?"

"No." The sheriff shook his head. "No, it all turned out just as Kiddie said, in every particular."

"And Nick Undrell had nothin' whatever to do with it?" questioned Kiddie.

"No, Nick was innercent that time," returned Isa. "Nick's been keepin' on the straight trail since that occasion when you'd a talk with him, I'm told, however, that he's broken out again—gamblin', drinkin', an' cavortin' around with the old gang."

"Which reminds me," said Abe Harum. "Nick Undrell's bin seen prowlin' around this yer camp a good deal lately—since you've bin away on your trip, Kiddie. I'm kind o' suspicious that he ain't spying around for no good. Seems he's bin making friends with that big dog, too."

"With Sheila?" Kiddie started upright in his seat. "By the way, where is she? I haven't seen or heard her since we came back. I wonder she hasn't discovered that we're here. Where is she?"

"Oh, the hound's all right," Abe Harum assured him. "Guess she's asleep in her kennel. Pass that tobacco jar, Rube."

Kiddie had a profound faith in his deerhound's sagacity, and he was more than a little disappointed that she had not yet discovered his presence in the camp.

He did not again refer to her absence that night, assuming that the hound could hardly have scented him passing in the canoe, or heard him landing so far away from the cabin as Grizzly Notch. But when he went to bed he began to wonder anew. He stood at the open window, listening, hoping to hear her bark. Hearing no sound but the whispering of the wind in the trees, he got his feet on a chair and leant out. He whistled, a long shrill whistle.

Rube Carter was already asleep in the same room. The whistle awoke him.

"What you whistlin' that way for?" Rube asked in alarm. "Shanty ain't afire, is it?"

"I'm whistling for Sheila," Kiddie told him. "Lie quiet while I listen if she answers."

"She won't hear you all this way off," said Rube. "Wind's against you."

"So it is," laughed Kiddie, stepping down from the chair. "Never mind! I shall see her in the morning. Sorry I disturbed you. Good night."

During their camping trip Kiddie and Rube had accustomed themselves to early rising, and on the following morning they were out and about before the rest of the household.

Kiddie looked at some of his letters, and then took his towel and went down to the creek for his morning swim, leaving Rube to help to get the breakfast ready. Kiddie returned looking astonishingly fresh and clean.

At the end of the meal he sat very silent, watching his companions taking out their pipes. He seemed to be particularly interested in Abe Harum, who was feeling in one pocket after another.

"Lost your pipe, Abe?" Kiddie inquired, thrusting a hand into his own side pocket.

"No," Abe answered. "I got it in my hand. I was feelin' for my matches."

"Oh, then," returned Kiddie, withdrawing his hand and producing a briar, "this ain't yours that I found?"

Abe looked at the pipe and shook his head.

"That ain't mine," he said. "Where'd you pick it up, Kiddie?"

"In the spare canoe, when I went down to have a bathe. I supposed you'd left it there."

"Ain't used that canoe since you've bin away," said Abe. "Nobody's used it, only Isa, when he went out on the lake t' look for you that time. Mebbe it's Isa's."

But the sheriff also shook his head.

"'Tain't mine," he said, glancing at the pipe, which Kiddie had pushed along the table.

Rube Carter took hold of it and began to clear the stale tobacco out of the bowl with the point of his pocket knife.

Kiddie watched Abe Harum striking a match. It was a safety, with a brown head.

"What sort of lucifers are yours, Isa?" Kiddie inquired.

Isa Blagg handed him his box, which was partly open, showing about a dozen matches with pink heads.

"Ah," Kiddie nodded. "Where'd you get 'em?"

"Bought 'em in Brierley's saloon in Laramie," said Isa. "Why?"

"Nothing," replied Kiddie, "only they're the same sort as a broken one I found in the canoe. Chap as left that pipe must have tried to light it in a high wind. There was quite half a dozen dead lucifers lyin' around."

"An' it don't appear as he lighted his pipe after all," added Rube Carter. "It's as dry as a bone, just as if it hadn't been smoked for months and months."

Abe Harum leant over and took a pinch of the tobacco ashes, smelling it.

"Thick twist," he said, "strong enough to pull your head off."

Kiddie had taken three dead matches from his pocket and laid them on the edge of the table in front of Rube.

"See anythin' peculiar 'bout those lucifers, Rube?" he asked.

"Guess I see the same as you do, Kiddie," was Rube's reply. "They're dirty, an' the charcoal's wore off their tips. Looks as if they'd been carried in some chap's pocket."

Kiddie stood up.

"Now let's get along t' the cabin," he said. "Will you come, Sheriff?"

Isa and Rube both accompanied him. They went down to Grizzly Notch, where the still loaded canoe had been left overnight. While Rube was loosening the painter, Kiddie went aside to the spare canoe, and searched about on the bank. Presently he stood still, and called Rube to his side.

"Take stock of that footprint," he began, pointing to the moist ground. "Horseshoe heel, a toecap, an' two rows of hob-nails; one nail missin'. D'ye know anythin'?"

Rube shook his head.

"None of our men wears boots like that," he declared. "But I've a idea I've seen the same impression before—somewhere. Lemme think."

Later, when the three of them were landing at the little pier, close to Kiddie's cabin, Rube said quietly—

"I remember now, Kiddie, 'bout that footprint—or the boot that made it. Nick Undrell wears boots nailed an' clamped like that. An' didn't Abe tell us as Nick had bin seen prowlin' round here? Guess it was Nick's pipe you found in the canoe. What you whistlin' for?"

"The dog," returned Kiddie. "I want to see Sheila. Go an' fetch her, Rube."

As Kiddie reached the cabin, he saw that the door was not locked. It was an inch or two ajar. He pushed it open farther, and strode within. He sniffed. There was a smell of tobacco smoke in the air. The living-room was in confusion, the furniture out of place. He ran into the farther room. Here the confusion was greater. A window-pane was broken, and the window itself was open.

For the next few minutes he went about opening cupboards and drawers. Then he heard footsteps on the veranda, and he went back to the front door.

"Don't come in, Isa! Stay where you are, Rube," he cried. "I've been robbed! Some one's broken in and gone off with all my jewellery, my gold watch, my best revolvers, my cash-box with hundreds of pounds in it. Where's the hound, Rube? Haven't you brought her? Didn't you find her?"

"I—I found her, Kiddie," Rube stammered, "but I couldn't bring her. She's dead! Shot dead."



CHAPTER XXI

THE CLUE OF YELLOW WORSTED

"Sheila—shot dead!" cried Kiddie, staring blankly in front of him.

Rube Carter nodded his head gravely. He saw that Kiddie was deeply moved.

"Come an' have a look at her," he said. "I've not touched her. Say, it ain't any wonder she never answered your whistle last night. Must sure have happened 'fore we come ashore, else we should have heard the shot."

He led the way in among the trees beyond the outhouses. But before he had gone very far he came to an abrupt halt, and pointed.

"The far side of that clump of sage grass," he indicated. "I'm figurin' as the man that shot her stood about here. She was runnin' towards him. His bullet went in at her chest."

"Scout around an' see if you c'n find any footprints," said Kiddie, going forward to examine the dead hound.

Rube and Isa Blagg both searched, but there was no likelihood of their finding any bootmarks on the grass. Rube went back to the path leading up from the landing-place. There had been heavy rain on the previous afternoon, and the ground was still moist enough to show the faint impressions of his own and Kiddie's moccasins, and yet more distinctly the marks of Isa Blagg's heavy boots.

At sight of these he turned sharply round.

"Show me the soles of your boots, Sheriff," he asked; "both of 'em? Ah," he added, on seeing them, "you've got horseshoe heels an' toecaps, too; but only one row of hob-nails. I'm lookin' for the marks of boots with two rows, an' with a nail missin' from the inside row of the left boot. You'd best not walk about more'n you c'n help."

"Rube," said Kiddie, now coming up. "We landed from the canoe last evenin' at a quarter to seven. At what time would Abe Harum be down here?"

"'Bout four o'clock, I guess," Rube answered. "That's his usual time for lockin' up the stables an' givin' Sheila her feed. Abe told us he left the hound in her kennel. But, of course, she c'd get out if she wanted. She'd soon be out if she heard a stranger prowlin' around."

"As no doubt she did," agreed Kiddie.

"Heard him gettin' outer the canoe," Rube conjectured.

"You believe he came along in the canoe, then?" Kiddie interrogated.

"Well," returned Rube, "what about the tobacco pipe an' the footprint? You haven't spotted any more footprints like that one, have you, Kiddie?"

"Only one," Kiddie answered, "close beside the dog."

"H'm!" nodded Rube; "went up to her ter make sure she was dead, eh?"

"And, havin' got the watchdog outer his path," interposed the sheriff, "he went round t' th' side of your cabin, an' broke in by the winder."

"The easiest way," explained Kiddie; "you see the front door was locked, and I had the key. But it's sure he came out by the front door, leavin' it ajar."

"Seems t' have made a big scoop," said the sheriff. "Must have known where you kept all that money an' jewellery. What was it all worth, Kiddie?"

"I don't know yet," returned Kiddie. "I haven't had time to see just what he's taken an' what he has left. It's the dog that I'm troubled about most."

"Well, the first thing to do is ter get on the scoundrel's track," advised Isa Blagg. "An' he's liable to have left some traces round about that broken winder. Let's get there right now an' have a search."

Their nearest way to the cabin was past the front of the stables. Rube Carter limped forward in advance of his two companions, searching the ground as he went. Suddenly he came to a halt.

"Hallo!" he cried. "Come an' look here, Kiddie. What d'you make of this?"

He was staring down at the marks of a horse's shoes, mingled with the impressions of a man's hob-nailed boots.

"Looks like the tracks of your big horse Regent, don't it?" he questioned. "An' the bootmarks are the same's the one near the canoe."

Kiddie did not wait to make conjectures. He strode quickly towards the stables. Before he reached the building he saw that the stable door was open. He went within. His favourite English hunter, Regent, was not there. Its stall was empty.

"Stolen!" he exclaimed. "Rube—Isa, d'ye see? Regent's been stolen!"

"Then we'll sure catch him, whoever he is," said Rube. "He won't ride many miles without Regent bein' seen an' recognized by somebody that knows that hoss is yours."

"Any suspicion who it is?" asked the sheriff.

"What's your own idea, Isa?" Kiddie inquired.

"Well," returned Isa, "seems ter me thar was more'n one of 'em at this yer job. I'm tryin' t' identify th' owner of them boots. I've got a notion; but I ain't goin' ter jump at no rash conclusions this time. Come an' have a look at that broken winder."

Rube had gone back to the footprints, and was intently examining them when Kiddie went up to him.

"Well," queried Kiddie, always interested in Rube's investigations, whatever they happened to be.

"This is where he mounted," said Rube. "Here's where he stood when he was fastening the cinch of the saddle. Nick ain't such a clever criminal as I thought. I wonder at him leavin' his bootprints scattered about like this. Why didn't he mount from the grass?"

"He was certainly careless," agreed Kiddie. "Looks as if he'd been in a precious hurry to get away with the boodle. You're sure, I suppose, that it was Nick Undrell who wore boots like those that made these marks?"

"What makes me certain," said Rube, "is the missin' nail. I noticed it that day when we were bringin' along your outfit from Laramie. You've got to remember, too, that Nick's bin seen prowlin' around on your property here."

"Go ahead, then, Rube," urged Kiddie. "Follow up your clues, and don't waste time."

Kiddie himself did not appear to take much active interest in tracking the criminal. He knew that a large quantity of his most valuable possessions had been stolen, but he still considered the killing of his dog the most serious injury that had been done to him, and while Isa and Rube made their way towards the cabin, he again went back to where Sheila lay dead.

When he rejoined his two companions they were still searching for tracks outside the cabin.

"Thar wasn't more'n one of 'em at it," Rube told him. "If there'd bin a second, he'd sure have left some sort of clue; but we've found only the one set of bootprints."

"Have you looked near the window?" Kiddie asked.

"Not yet; I'm goin' there right now," replied Rube. "Keep Isa Blagg back, or he'll only get trampin' out the signs with them heavy boots of his. Just let me go alone—see?"

"Right," said Kiddie; "go ahead."

Rube found an empty packing-case against the boards under the window. He mounted on top of it, and examined the window sash and the broken pane of glass, by means of which the catch of the window had been opened. There were finger-marks on the glass, but these did not help him, since he did not yet know what kind of marks Nick Undrell's fingers might have left. What engaged his especial attention was one of the sharp points of splintered glass. He jumped down, and went back to where Kiddie and the sheriff waited.

"Either of you happen ter recollect what kind of a vest or shirt Nick Undrell wears?" he inquired. "Red, ain't it?"

Kiddie shook his head.

"Never saw Nick with red shirt-sleeves," he responded.

"Nor I," added the sheriff. "If you'd said yaller now——"

"Yes," resumed Kiddie; "yellow with black stripes, like a wasp, or an English football player."

"Come along o' me," said Rube.

And he led them both to the window, and pointed up at the broken glass.

"Yes," began Kiddie, "he broke that pane, shoved in his hand, and moved the hasp, then opened the lower sash, and went bodily in."

"All that's as plain as sunlight," said Rube. "But look at that sharp point of glass. Thar's a thread of wool caught on it—yellow wool."

"Ah!" exclaimed Isa Blagg. "Nick Undrell for a certainty!"

"That's how I figure it out," Rube agreed.

"Queer!" mused Kiddie, thrusting a finger and thumb into one of his smaller pockets. "I found a thread of the same yellow wool caught in one of poor Sheila's claws—the middle claw of the left fore foot."

"Dog got at him pretty close," conjectured Isa. "Guess Nick was right up agin her when he fired."

"The hair ain't singed any round about the bullet hole," added Rube.

"That's an important point," nodded Kiddie, turning and leading the way round to the front door of the cabin.

Rube Carter, following close behind him, sniffed, as Kiddie had done, on entering the living-room.

"Ugh," grunted Rube, "somebody bin havin' a smoke in here lately. Smells like a cigar, don't it, Kiddie? 'Tain't pipe tobacco smoke—eh?"

"No," said Kiddie, sniffing like a spaniel after partridge. "It's more like the aroma of one of my Egyptian cigarettes." He glanced up at a shelf. "They're gone, I see."

Rube also looked up at the shelf. He knew where Kiddie kept his stock of cigarettes. He knew also that besides the cigarettes there had been several parcels of pipe tobacco. He observed now that while the cigarettes had been taken, the tobacco remained on the shelf untouched. This fact puzzled him.

Kiddie had already gone into the farther room—his workroom—with Isa Blagg. Isa had taken out his pocket-book and pencil.

"If you'll sing out the things that are missin', Kiddie, I'll make a list of 'em," he said.

"But I can't tell you right off," objected Kiddie. "There's my gold watch and chain, worth fifty guineas, a gold cigarette-case studded with brilliants, five diamond rings, three diamond scarfpins, about five hundred pounds in English and American bank-notes—a whole heap of things are missin', but I'm not goin' ter worry about 'em now. The list can wait."

"But you want t' catch an' punish the thief, don't you?" urged Isa.

"I want to catch and punish the low-down skunk who murdered my deerhound," declared Kiddie, his eyes flashing in the vehemence of his anger.

"Kiddie," said Rube, now entering the room, "I'm some puzzled."

"What about, Rube?" asked Kiddie. "What's your problem?"

"It's this," answered Rube, scratching the back of his ear. "Allowin' that Nick Undrell entered by the broken winder an' carried off the valuables you've just bin figurin' up, why, when he went into th' other room, did he take the cigarettes an' leave the tobacco?"

"That's a very interestin' proposition which has already occurred to me," said Kiddie.

"You see," pursued Rube, "Nick ain't a cigarette smoker. He looks on a cigarette as a childish plaything. He smokes strong tobacco, the same as we found in his pipe. Then why did he take the cigarettes an' leave the tobacco?"

"Dunno," said Kiddie, "unless it was with the idea of leavin' a false clue—a blind. If he had taken the tobacco, I, who know his contempt for cigarettes, might the more readily have identified him."

"Thar's a lot in that notion," Rube acknowledged; "but it's just a bit too cute fer a man like Nick. The galoot that would scatter his footprints around an' leave his pipe in the canoe ain't clever enough ter lay a false trail. Seems to me it's more likely Nick didn't see the tobacco. He was hustlin' to get away with the loot."

"Everything else clear?" Kiddie asked.

"Yes," answered Rube. "I've got the whole thing straightened out."

"Good," nodded Kiddie; "then sit down an' give me your theory, from beginnin' to end."

Isa Blagg appeared to consider it preposterous to appeal for an explanation to a mere boy. Nevertheless, when Rube stated his case the sheriff was constrained to agree with it in every particular.



CHAPTER XXII

RUBE CARTER'S THEORY—AND KIDDIE'S

"To begin with, then," said Rube, "Nick Undrell knew about your valuables—knew that you kept 'em here in your cabin; and he coveted them. He'd made up his mind weeks ago to get hold of 'em. He admitted as much to you yourself, an' he put you off suspectin' him by makin' out that he'd started on a new trail by givin' up drink an' gamblin' and thievin'. That's where he was artful. Then he knew that you'd gone away on a campin'-out trip. We've bin told as he's bin spyin' around here an' tryin' to make friends with the dog.

"Naturally, he didn't know just when we should be back. Anyhow, he reckoned that last night would be safe, there bein' no moonlight. In case he should be heard movin' through the bush, he took the loan of our spare canoe an' dropped along silent by water. I'm figurin' that he calculated on the dog knowin' him an' not barkin'. But he wanted ter make sure, an' he crept up towards the kennel.

"Sheila was free; she wasn't chained up or locked in; an' she met him. Whether she fawned on him or attacked him, an' so got that thread of yaller wool on her claw don't greatly signify, though I guess she attacked him, an' he shot her dead, going up to her afterwards t' make sure, an' leavin' his footprint."

Kiddie nodded in satisfaction at the boy's narrative.

"And then?" he said.

"Then Nick made a bee-line for the cabin, broke the pane of glass, opened the winder, an' crawled in. Here he collected all the valuables he c'd lay his hands on—money, trinkets, jewels—hundreds and hundreds of dollars' worth, an' packed the lot into the gunny sack that he found in that there corner."

"Ah, I didn't remember that gunny sack," said Kiddie. "I had wondered how the things were carried away. Well?"

"Well," continued Rube, "after that, he went through the sittin'-room t' escape by the front door. He looked around the room an' caught sight of the cigarettes and tobacco. Before decidin' which ter take, he thought he'd try one of the cigarettes, so he smoked one, leavin' the scent of it hangin' in the air. I reckon he enjoyed it, so he took the cigarettes an' left the pipe tobacco."

"They are very good cigarettes, I believe," commented Kiddie. "I've never smoked one myself."

"Still, I wonder at Nick Undrell leavin' all that tobacco on the shelf," put in Isa Blagg. "What d'you figure he did next, Rube? Went around to the stables, helped himself t' the best hoss thar, an' rode off, I should say."

"That's about it," concluded Rube.

"My theory exactly," declared the sheriff, "an' now I calculate the first thing t' do is ter get on Nick's tracks an' arrest him."

"Wait," said Kiddie. "There's one thing that Rube has not explained. What about the canoe? We found it tied up in Grizzly Notch. How did it get back there?"

"Ar-rum!" ejaculated Rube. "I forgot the canoe; but I suppose Nick took it back an' tied it up 'fore he went to the stable."

"Not at all," said Kiddie. "Your theory is wrong from beginnin' to end. The canoe was never used. The paddles were in the boat-house as dry as a bone. The tobacco pipe, the dead matches and the footprint were planted there purposely as a blind to put us on a false trail. I don't deny that the pipe was Nick Undrell's, or the boots, or that the threads of yellow worsted came from Nick's vest. But in spite of these clues, yes, even because of them, I believe that Nick Undrell had nothing to do with this robbery."

"Git!" exclaimed Isa Blagg, with a derisive laugh.

"S-shoo!" whispered Rube in amazement.

"You say you didn't touch the dead dog," pursued Kiddie, "didn't look into her eyes an' see how the pupils were dilated; didn't handle her limbs an' feel how rigid they were. You've seen many an animal killed with a bullet, Rube, but you never saw one lookin' as Sheila looks. Why? Because she wasn't shot. It was poison that killed her—a quick an' deadly poison, injected on the point of a dart, a spear, or, perhaps even an arrow. And the bootprint was made purposely by the man who went up to her to recover the weapon and to fix the thread of yellow worsted to her claw, just as he afterwards fixed the thread on the splinter of window glass, as an intentionally misleading clue. As to the cigarettes and tobacco, there need have been no hesitation. The cigarettes were taken in preference by a man who never smokes a pipe, but is peculiarly fond of cigarettes."

"Gee!" cried Rube. "You are clever, Kiddie."

Kiddie had disappeared into his bedroom. When he came out again some minutes afterwards, he was dressed as a western cowboy.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Rube. "Where're you off to?"

"Along to Laramie ter locate Nick Undrell," drawled Kiddie, fixing his six-shooter in his belt.

He hastened out to the stables, saddled and mounted a pony, and started off through the woodland towards the trail.

Hardly had he got out from among the trees when he heard the clattering of a horse's galloping feet. He dropped the bridle over his pony's head, leapt from his saddle, gathered the coils of his lariat in his fist, and crept to the side of the trail. The galloping horse came swiftly nearer. Kiddie peeped out over the edge of a boulder and recognized his own bay hunter Regent.

The rider's face was hidden under his wide hat, but as he raised his whip hand there was the gleam of a yellow and black striped vest. Kiddie gripped his lariat ready to throw, but he did not throw it. Instead, he whistled loud and shrill, and, as the horseman came abreast of him, he called out—

"Nick—Nick!"

Nick Undrell drew rein, and, swinging sharply round, rode up to Kiddie.

"The very man I wanted to see," said Kiddie, dropping his lariat, and seizing the hunter's palpitating muzzle in his hands. "Where is he, Nick?"

"He?" echoed Nick Undrell, with a laugh. "Well, if your lordship's referrin' ter Broken Feather, he's a prisoner in my shack, wearin' handcuffs an' a pair of my boots, an' with two o' my boys standin' over him with loaded revolvers. An' the boodle—the loot—the swag that the greasy skunk stole from your cabin last night, it's all fixed up right an' tight in Laramie Bank."



CHAPTER XXIII

EVIDENCE FOR THE PROSECUTION

"Good—very good," said Kiddie. "He's captured; and you're sure he can't escape—eh?"

Nick Undrell laughed.

"Don't you alarm yourself any," he answered, dismounting from the bay horse. "He ain't goin' t' escape, that's sure."

"Very well," returned Kiddie, slinging his coiled lariat over the horn of his saddle. "In that case, I c'n afford to wait for your further explanations until we get along to my cabin. Sheriff Blagg is there, an' young Rube Carter."

He led his pony through the woodland by the same narrow trail that he had followed a few minutes earlier, and it was not long before they reached the stables.

"I presume," said Kiddie, when he was closing the door, leaving the two horses secure in their stalls, "that Broken Feather was ridin' my horse Regent when you laid him by the heels?"

"That's so," Nick answered; "the best hoss I've ever bin astride of. Yes, we waylaid him—middle of One Tree Gulch."

"Seems you expected him. You knew just where he'd been, an' what he'd been up to. You expected him to ride through One Tree Gulch exactly at that time?"

"No, your lordship," returned Nick; "I knew nothin' for sure. It was no more'n a cute guess on my part, knowin' the man."

Kiddie turned and looked at Undrell very steadily.

"I'm very much afraid that you know more about this business than you're likely to admit," he said. "You were in it yourself to some extent. Perhaps you even went partners with him—eh?"

"What?" Nick showed genuine astonishment at the implied accusation.

"Walk right in," ordered Kiddie, when they were at the front door of the cabin.

Isa Blagg started forward excitedly at Nick's unexpected entrance.

"Got him already!" he exclaimed. "That's smart, Kiddie—real smart."

"Wait, Isa, wait," retorted Kiddie. "I want to ask a few questions."

He reached round to his desk and laid a tobacco pipe on the table in front of Nick Undrell.

"Is that yours?" he asked.

"Yes," said Nick, taking it up and turning it in his fingers, "it's sure mine. Where'd you pick it up? Last time I see it 'twas on the shelf at home in my shack. Been lying thar for months. Too good ter throw away, not good enough ter smoke. How in thunder did it get here?"

"It was found in one of our canoes," explained Kiddie. "You are supposed to have dropped it there and forgotten it."

"Never bin in one o' your canoes in all my life," Nick declared.

"Ever been in this room before?" pursued Kiddie.

"Never," Nick denied; "never been inside the door."

"Show me the soles of your boots," said Kiddie.

Nick lifted his feet for inspection. Kiddie looked at the smooth soles inquiringly, nodded in satisfaction, and then leant forward and carefully picked a thread of yellow worsted from Undrell's striped vest.

"How do you explain," he went on, "that we found a thread of this very same yellow wool caught in the glass of that broken window? How do you account for a thread of the same stuff bein' found fixed round one of the claws of my dead hound?"

"Your dead hound!" repeated Nick, in genuine surprise. "Dead, d'ye say? D'ye mean he killed it—shot it? My, I'm glad we captured him—real glad, I am."

"What's that?" cried Isa Blagg. "Who d'ye mean?"

"All right, Sheriff," said Kiddie. "Leave it to me, please. I've only one more question to ask." He turned to Nick again. "Ever smoked one of my foreign cigarettes, Nick?" he inquired.

Nick shook his head.

"Never even seen one of 'em, except that time in my shack when you offered me one outer your gold case, an' I wouldn't have it," he answered. "But I guess you knows as well as I do that Broken Feather collared a whole heap of 'em?"

"Yes," said Kiddie. "It was the takin' of the cigarettes that made me certain that the robber was Broken Feather. You will have gathered from my questions that he tried to fix the crime upon you, Nick. He wore a pair of your boots an' left the prints of them around. He planted your old pipe in the canoe. He left the yellow threads from your woollen vest where they would serve as clues pointin' to you an' you alone and at the same time he was most careful to leave no trace or sign of his own identity."

"The skunk!" muttered Nick; "the greasy, low-down skunk?"

"Say, Kiddie," interposed Rube Carter, "thar's one thing you ain't asked Nick Undrell t' explain. What was his game prowlin' around here an' tryin' ter make friends with the dog?"

"I'll tell you that," returned Nick, glancing across at Rube. "It was all quite innercent. I knew that Kiddie an' you was away on a canoe trip. Broken Feather knew it, too. I'd a suspicion, an' more'n a suspicion, that he'd made up his mind ter break in here an' carry off some of Kiddie's valu'bles. I came prowlin' around ter spy on him. I saw him here once. He saw me watchin' him, an' he quitted. Then I heard that he'd gone cavortin' off on the war-path against the Crows, back of Lone Wolf Mountain, an' I didn't worry any more, since he couldn't be in two places at once. D'ye savvy?"

"Yes," nodded Kiddie; "yes, go on."

"Well," continued Nick, "night before last I was sittin' all lonesome in my shack, waitin' for the water to boil an' listenin' t' the rain outside, when there come a knock at the door. I opened it, an' there was a stranger—a Injun—lookin' like a drowned rat. He wanted food; he wanted shelter. I lets him come in. He couldn't speak English. We talked by signs, an' didn't get a lot said. I made two mugs of coffee, one for myself, one for him.

"Then I turned to the cupboard ter git some cheese an' a cracker or two, never suspectin' that he was anythin' else than a homeless wanderer. Well, I dunno just how he managed it—wasn't watchin' him, didn't suspect him—but when my back was turned, he must ha' took the opportunity he was waitin' for an' cunningly dropped suthin' in my mug of coffee. That's sure what he did. Thar ain't a doubt about it. I didn't taste nothin' unusual; but that coffee was doped. I couldn't keep awake. I fell asleep, an' yet not altogether asleep. I kinder saw things an' heard 'em in a dreamy way.

"Seemed ter me after a while that the door opened an' a second Injun came crawlin' in. It wasn't till afterwards that I realized who this second one was. He looked at me hard, kept on watchin' me for mebbe a full hour, until he figured I was sound asleep. Then he crept near an' touched me: caught hold o' this yer vest an' tugged at it till he tore a hole in it. Then he went about the room, silent as a cat. He drew my boots away from the stove, where I'd put 'em to dry. He went to the shelf, where that old pipe was lyin'. I dunno what else he did. I was too much asleep t' know anythin' or care anythin'. I only know that it was broad daylight when I awoke, that both them Injuns had vamoosed, an' that I couldn't find my boots."

"Reason bein' that Broken Feather had took 'em," said Rube Carter. "Didn't you find tracks outside the door, Nick?"

"Yes," Nick answered, "I found the marks of two pairs of moccasins leadin' up to the door; a pair of moccasins an' a pair of hob-nailed boots—my own boots—goin' away. It wasn't a very difficult proposition, an' I allow it wasn't long 'fore I'd ciphered it all up. I made out that Broken Feather, havin' failed in his raid on the Crow Indian reservation, had planned ter come right here an' do a bit of the burglary business in your absence. He's bin owin' me a grudge for a while back. He took my boots so that the marks of 'em in the mud would draw suspicion on me. D'ye savvy?"

"That was clearly his idea," Kiddie agreed, "and he very nearly succeeded. He gave himself away, however, by plantin' too many false clues around, an' makin' them too conspicuous. Did you follow on his tracks, Nick?"

"We did," Nick replied. "Jim Thurston, Fred Crippleshaw an' me, we follered him as far as Long Grass Creek. There we lost track of him, an' gave up the chase. We couldn't hope ter get here in front of him, though he was on foot an' we were mounted. But knowin' that he'd likely be goin' back with the loot to his own village, an' guessin' which trail he'd take, we hung around in One Tree Gulch. Waited hours an' hours.

"At last we heard a strange horse comin' along at an easy trot. By the sound of its feet we c'd tell it was no or'nary prairie cayuse, an' soon, sure enough, Broken Feather came inter view, with the goods in a gunny sack slung over his shoulder. Before he guessed we were there—before he c'd whip out his gun—we'd dropped on him."

"Ah," said Sheriff Blagg, stroking his chin. "I allow you did that business with considerable credit, Nick Undrell. Case of set a thief to catch a thief. I'm only regrettin' that I wasn't present on the occasion to make a formal arrest."

"'Tain't too late yet," smiled Kiddie. "You c'n ride back to Fort Laramie along with Nick an' conclude the business in proper legal form. No need to caution you to see that the prisoner cannot escape, and when the trial takes place, I guess you'll count upon me to be there to give evidence against him."

"What d'you reckon they'll give him, Kiddie?" Rube Carter wanted to know.

"Dunno," Kiddie shrugged his shoulders: "two or three years in penal servitude, I expect. Anyhow, Broken Feather's ambitious career doesn't look as if it would materialize. He'll be put out of the way of doin' further mischief, and we can settle down in our peaceful solitude, happy and undisturbed."

He turned to Nick Undrell.

"By the way, Nick," he said, "you told me a while back that you'd lost that cattle ranch of yours over a game of cards. You gambled it away to an Indian, didn't you?"

"That's so, your lordship," returned Nick. "An' the Injun referred to was Broken Feather. I ain't sure, but I've allus had a notion that he cheated in that game of poker. Why d'you ask about the ranch?"

"Because," said Kiddie, "it came into the market the other day and I bought it. Now that the estate is mine, I don't find that I've any use for it. I don't want it. D'you reckon you could run it for a season or two, Nick?"

"As your lordship's manager?" Nick asked.

"No," Kiddie answered, "as my workin' partner."

"Could you trust me?" questioned Nick.

"Down to the ground," said Kiddie, holding forth his hand.

Nick Undrell seized it.

"Kiddie," he faltered, "you're making a new man of me. You found me when I was lost. You blazed a new trail for me, an' I kept to it. I shall keep to it until the very end."

* * * * * *

During the rest of that same day, while Rube Carter was occupied in the work of unloading the canoe and setting the cabin in order, Kiddie engaged himself in opening his delayed correspondence and writing letters.

Many of the letters he opened were business communications from his lawyers in London, requiring immediate attention. Some were letters from friends in England, regretting his absence and imploring him to return. The one that he left to the last was addressed in a familiar handwriting, and he read it with close interest.

MY DEAR COUSIN HARRY,—

Do you remember once when we sat together in the billiard-room at St. Olave, and you were yarning to me about Buckskin Jack and Gideon Birkenshaw and the Pony Express? I said something about wishing I could go out West again and enjoy some such adventures as yours, and you said: "Well, you'd better come out with me." I don't know what I answered, but I believe you thought I didn't quite take to the idea, and you went off suddenly without repeating the invitation.

Now, however, I'm not going to wait to be asked. Since you didn't take me with you, I am going to come out on my own. I want to see you again, Kiddie. I want to be your chum for a few weeks, and share your life in that shack in the Bush that you were going to build. By this time you ought to be pining for a companion.

There are so many things I want to do and to see, with you to teach me. Golf and tennis and billiards are all very well, but I yearn for the wide spaces and the wilds. I want to see a real herd of buffalo and a pack of wolves, and to go bear hunting, to do some trapping, and to see some Indians—not the imitation article that hangs around on railway stations wearing breeches and a top hat, but the real noble savage, the wigwam Redskin with painted face and feathered head-dress. But more than all, I want to live in the same world of adventure with you. So I am coming out West. Before you get this letter I shall have started, and some day very soon you may meet me riding along the trail on my way to Sweetwater Bridge.

Then when I have had enough of it, I count upon your coming back home to England with me. This is imperative. There are heaps of important things waiting for you to do and to see to here.

Always your affectionate cousin, HAROLD FRITTON.

P.S.—Give my love to Sheila, and stroke her velvet ears for me.

Kiddie drew a deep breath. Rube Carter, who was behind him dusting the books and pictures, heard him, and turned round.

"Got some bad news in that letter you're readin', Kiddie?" he asked.

Kiddie folded up the letter and replaced it in its envelope.

"No," he answered. "It ought to be good news. My cousin Harold is coming out to pay us a visit."

"That so?" said Rube. "You've told me of your cousin Harold. He's your heir, ain't he? What did you sigh for? Don't you want him?"

"It was Harold who gave me the deerhound," Kiddie explained. "He sends his love to her. And she's dead. That's why I sighed. Say, Rube, you'll like Cousin Harold."

"Dunno 'bout that," said Rube. "Guess I shall have ter take a very far back seat when he comes along. Why, by all accounts he's even more of a gentleman than you are yourself, Kiddie."

"That's quite true," Kiddie acknowledged. "But that's no disadvantage, is it? We both stand in need of a bit of polishin' up before we go home to England again."

"Home to England?" Rube repeated. "What d'you mean by that?"

"Sooner or later I've got to go back to London," Kiddie told him. "But it won't be for always, you see—just long enough for you to have a good look round."

"Me!" exclaimed Rube in amazement.

"That's my notion," Kiddie intimated. "You'd like to go to England, wouldn't you? And you don't expect me to stay here for ever?"

"Course not," said Rube. "And—and—well, I dessay thar's a lot of chores you're hankerin' to attend to over there. We c'n easily lock up the cabin. It won't come to no harm now that thar's no Broken Feathers lyin' around."

THE END