"White girl lose breath and shut eyes," was the answer, meaning that Nellie had fainted. "No more fight—Yellow Elk no hurt her."

"I will go no further with you—I do not believe your story!" cried Nellie. "Let me down."

At these words the face of the Indian chief grew dark, and he muttered several words in his own language which Nellie did not understand, but which Pawnee Brown made out to be that the White Bird was too sweet to be lost so easily, he must take her to his cave in the mountains.

"Will you?" murmured Pawnee Brown. "Well, maybe, but not if I know it."

The mentioning of a cave in the mountains made Pawnee Brown curious. Did Yellow Elk have such a hiding place? Where was it located, and was the Indian chief its only user?

"Perhaps some more of these reds have broken loose," he thought. "I would like to investigate. Who knows but what the cavalrymen are after them and not the boomers, as Dan Gilbert imagined."

A brief consideration of the subject and his mind was made up. So long as the Indian did not offer positive harm to Nellie Winthrop he would not expose himself, but follow on behind, in hope of locating the cave and learning more of Yellow Elk's intended movements.

"Let me go, I say!" cried Nellie, but the Indian chief merely shook his head.

"White girl be no fool. Indian friend; no hurt one hair of her head. Soon we be in camp and she will see what a friend Yellow Elk has been."

At this Nellie shook her head. That painted and dirty face was far too repulsive to be trusted. But there was no help for it; the Indian held her as in a vise, and she was forced to submit.

Moving along the trail, Indian and horse passed within a dozen feet of where Pawnee Brown sat, still as silent as a block of marble. It was a trying moment. What if the horse he rode should make a noise, or if his own Bonnie Bird should instinctively discover him and give the alarm?

"Poor Bonnie Bird, to have to carry a dirty redskin," thought the boomer. The ears of the beautiful mare went up as she drew close, and she appeared to hesitate. But Yellow Elk urged her along by several punches in the ribs, and in a moment more the danger of discovery just then was past.

On went the tall Indian along the ravine, peering cautiously ahead, with one hand around Nellie's waist and the other holding the reins and his pistol. He knew he was on a dangerous mission, and he stood ready, if unmasked, to sell his worthless life dearly.

Pawnee Brown followed at a distance of a hundred feet, taking care to pick his way so that his horse's hoofs should strike only the dirt and soft moss, and that the brush growing among the tall trees should screen him as much as possible.

Presently he saw the Indian halt and stare long and hard at a tall pine growing in front of a large flat rock.

"Wonder if he has missed his way?" mused the scout, but a moment later Yellow Elk proceeded onward, faster than ever.

Coming up to the pine, Pawnee Brown saw instantly what had attracted the redskin's attention. There was a blaze on the tree six inches square, and on the blaze was written in charcoal:

10 f. E. D. G.

"Hullo, a message from Dan," he cried, half aloud. He had read the strange marking without difficulty. It ran as follows:

"Ten feet east. DAN GILBERT."

Pacing off the ten feet in the direction indicated, Pawnee Brown located a flat rock. Raising this, he uncovered a small, circular hole, in the centre of which lay a leaf torn from a note book, on which was written:

"I write this to notify Pawnee Brown or any of my other friends that I have gone up the ravine on the trail of half a dozen cavalry scouts who are up here, not only to watch for boomers, but also to try and locate several Indians who have left the reservation without permission. I will be back soon. DAN GILBERT."

The boomer read the note with interest. Then he hastily scribbled off the answer:

"Have read the note that was left. Am following Yellow Elk, who stole my mare and has Jack Rasco's niece a captive. Yellow Elk is bound for some cave in the mountains. PAWNEE BROWN."

The answer finished, the boomer placed it in the hole, let back the flat rock and wrote on the blaze of the tree, under Dan Gilbert's initials:

P. B.



CHAPTER XII.

YELLOW ELK.

The writing of the answer to Gilbert's communication had taken several minutes, and now Yellow Elk was entirely out of sight. But Pawnee Brown was certain of the trail the Indian had taken, and by a little faster riding soon brought the rascal again into view.

Yellow Elk was now descending into a valley bound on the north by a rolling hill and on the south by a cliff varying from twenty to forty feet in height. Even at a distance Pawnee Brown could see that the Indian was having considerable trouble with Nellie Winthrop, who felt now assured that her first suspicions were correct and that Yellow Elk had taken her far from the boomers' camp.

"I will not go with you!" cried the girl, and did her best to break from the warrior's grasp. But Yellow Elk's hold was a good one, and she only succeeded in tearing her dress.

"We be dare in few minutes now," replied the redskin. "Den all be right—you wait and see."

"I won't go with you—let me down!" screamed Nellie, but he silenced her by a fierce gesture which made the boomer's blood boil. It was only by the exercise of all his will power that the great scout kept himself from shooting down Yellow Elk on the spot.

The end of the long cliff was almost reached when the Indian chief reined up the mare and sprang to the ground, still holding Nellie tight. As he held the girl by the wrist with one hand he led Bonnie Bird forward with the other. In a few seconds, girl, mare and Indian had disappeared from view in the midst of a thick fringe of bushes.

They had scarcely vanished when Pawnee Brown was on the ground and had tethered his horse in a little grove of pines a hundred feet away. This done, he stole forward to what he felt must be the mouth of the cave Yellow Elk had mentioned.

The great scout knew he was on delicate and dangerous ground. There was no telling how many Indians beside Yellow Elk there might be in the vicinity, who had left the reservation without permission; it was likely all who were there would be in war paint ready to kill him on sight.

"The reds who train with Yellow Elk are not to be trusted," he muttered. "Yellow Elk wouldn't like anything better than to scalp me just for a taste of his old blood-thirsty days. Making a 'good Indian' out of such a fellow is all nonsense—it simply can't be done."

Pawnee Brown had dropped down in the long grass and was now wiggling along like a snake through the bushes and between the rocks. Soon the entrance to the cave was gained, hidden by more bushes. He hesitated, looked to see that his pistol was all right, shoved the bushes aside and slipped within.

It was so dark inside that for a moment he could distinguish nothing. But his ears were on the alert and he heard the footsteps of Yellow Elk resounding at a distance of fully fifty yards. He could hear nothing of Nellie, and rightfully concluded that the Indian had been compelled to pick her up and carry her.

An instant later he stumbled close to his mare. Bonnie Bird recognized him with a snort of joy.

"Sh-sh!" he said softly, and the gentle animal understood and made no further sound. But she gladly rubbed her soft nose up and down his neck to signify her pleasure.

"Good Bonnie Bird," he whispered. "I'll be with you soon again," and went on after Yellow Elk.

The Indian had now come to a halt and was striking a match. Soon some dry brush was set on fire and the redskin heaped upon it some stout tree branches, for the air in the cave was chilly.

"Now me and white girl have long talk," said Yellow Elk, as he motioned Nellie to a seat.

"Where is the boomers' camp?" she faltered, hardly knowing how to answer him.

"Camp ten miles from here," came the short reply. "You here all alone with Yellow Elk."

At this the frightened girl gave a scream of terror.

"You base wretch!" she sobbed. "Take me back at once."

"No take back—Yellow Elk no fool. White girl stay here—make Yellow Elk good squaw, maybe," and he grinned into her pretty face.

But now an interruption came which all but stunned Yellow Elk. Leaping from his hiding place, Pawnee Brown pounced upon the redskin, caught him by the throat and hurled him backward and almost into the midst of the fire!

"You miserable dog!" came from the scout's lips.

"Oh, sir, save me from that Indian!" came from Nellie, as she quickly turned to the man she felt sure would assist her.

"I will, Miss Winthrop, don't fear," answered Pawnee Brown. "So, Yellow Elk, we meet again. I reckon you remember the man who kicked you all around the agency two years ago because you tried to steal his new pair of boots?"

"Ugh!" grunted Yellow Elk. He had just managed to scramble out of the fire, and was beating out the flames which had caught on a fringe of his garments. "Pawnee Brown."

He muttered a fierce imprecation in his native tongue. Then, before Pawnee Brown could stop him his pistol flashed in the fire-light. He took aim at the scout's head and fired.

But though the action of the Indian chief was quick, the movement of the boomer was quicker.

Many times had he been under fire, and he had learned to drop when occasion required as rapidly as it could be done.

With the pressure upon the pistol trigger he went down like a flash and the bullet intended for his head merely grazed the top of his hat and flattened itself upon the cave wall opposite.

"Bah!" hissed Yellow Elk, when he saw how he had missed. He attempted to take him once more, but now Pawnee Brown hurled himself on the redskin, turning the barrel of the weapon aside, and both went to the stone flooring with a crash. Nellie Winthrop let out a shriek of terror.

"Do not let him shoot you! Make him throw the pistol away!" she cried, as she wrung her hands. She would have liked to assist Pawnee Brown, but could not see how it could just then be done.



CHAPTER XIII.

NELLIE'S FLIGHT.

Over and over on the stone flooring rolled the boomer and his red enemy, now close to the fire and again off to one side, where there was a slight hollow still wet from the recent storm.

Pawnee Brown had Yellow Elk by the throat and across the back, while the Indian held his antagonist by the shoulder with one hand, while trying to beat his brains out with the pistol that was in the other.

Once Yellow Elk succeeded in getting in a glancing blow, which drew blood, but did no great harm. But now Pawnee Brown's grip was tightening. The redskin was choking. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his tongue hung out several inches.

"Ugh!" gasped the Indian chief. In vain he tried to shake off that grip. It was like that of a bulldog and could not be loosened. He struck out wildly, but the pistol butt only landed upon Pawnee Brown's shoulder, a shoulder that was as tough as iron and could stand any amount of pounding.

Suddenly the tactics of the Indian changed. Knowing that he was in immediate danger of death by choking, and feeling how unlikely it was that he could throw off his assailant, he let fall his pistol and caught the boomer around the body. Then he began to roll toward the fire, which was now blazing up more brightly than ever.

The scout saw the redskin's intention instantly, but before he could stop it both he and his enemy were close to the flames.

"Me die you die too!" hissed Yellow Elk, and gave another roll, which took both himself and Pawnee Brown into the very edge of the blaze.

"Take care! You will be burnt up!" cried Nellie Winthrop, and gave a scream. Rushing forward, she caught Pawnee Brown by the arm and attempted to draw him back.

But of this there was no need, for the great scout had already changed his tactics, feeling convinced that to choke Yellow Elk was now impossible. His hand left the redskin's throat, to double up and sail forth into a crushing blow, which took the Indian chief beneath the eyes and made him see more stars than were ever beheld in the blue canopy of heaven. As Yellow Elk fell back Pawnee Brown did likewise, but in a different direction.

The Indian was now in the midst of the flames and the cry he let out was truly blood-curdling. Excited as he was, Pawnee Brown did not let the intonation of that cry escape him. Understanding the Indian language well, he knew it was more than a cry of terror or pain, it was a call for help! Other Indians must be somewhere in the vicinity.

"You had better run for it!" he said, turning to Nellie. "Mount my horse—the mare the Indian had—and ride down the ravine."

"Run?" she faltered.

"Yes, and hurry. Hark! As I thought! Other Indians are coming!"

The boomer was right. The footsteps sounded from the opposite end of the cave, which had two entrances, similar to each other.

By this time Yellow Elk had rolled out of the fire and was dancing around like a madman, trying to beat out the flames which had communicated to his clothing.

As Nellie ran off, Pawnee Brown drew his pistol, resolved to not only defend himself but cover the girl's retreat as well.

Little did he dream of the fresh perils which awaited Nellie. What those perils were the immediate chapters which follow will relate.

As Yellow Elk danced around, Pawnee Brown leveled his revolver at him.

Crack! went the weapon and the Indian chief fell back with a wound through his shoulder. The flickering of the fire-light had saved him from death.

A cry that was little less than a war whoop now sounded out, and with this four other Indians appeared, two whom Pawnee Brown had before seen in Yellow Elk's company and two who were utter strangers to him.

"Capture the white dog!" howled Yellow Elk, in his native tongue. "Shoot the dog down!"

"Pawnee Brown!" grunted one of the newcomers, and up went several pistols. The scout fired at the same time, and one of the strange Indians threw up his hands and fell lifeless. But the bullet this Indian had sent on its mission struck the boomer across the forehead and sent the scout to the flooring of the cave senseless.

When Pawnee Brown came to a clear mind again he found himself aching in every portion of his body, for in their usual custom the Indians on finding him helpless had each taken their turn at kicking him to suit their pleasure, Yellow Elk especially delighting in this cruel performance.

The scout was bound tightly with a lariat which started from his feet and was wound and crossed up to his very neck, making body, legs and arms as stiff as those of an Egyptian mummy. He lay on the cave flooring not a dozen feet from the fire, which Yellow Elk was in the act of replenishing.

As he opened his eyes one of the other Indians, Spotted Nose by name, stopped in front of him. The scout instantly closed his eyes again, but it was too late.

"You all right," cried Spotted Nose, and gave him a sharp kick in the side.

"Well I won't be if you keep on kicking me," replied the boomer, as cheerfully as he could, although it must be admitted he was much disturbed. He glanced around and was relieved to see that Nellie was nowhere in sight.

Yellow Elk now came up and also kicked the prostrate scout.

"You heap dirty dog!" he exclaimed, his face full of bitter hatred. "You shoot me—you die for dat."

"I suppose I will—if you have the saying of that, Yellow Elk. But perhaps you won't dare to kill me."

"Why not Indian dare? Indian dare anything," growled Yellow Elk.

"My friends are not far off—they will soon come here, and if you harm me it will go hard with you."

At this all of the Indians laughed.

"No white man around here—we on guard all time," said Spotted Nose.

"On guard, eh? And yet you didn't see me come in, Dirty Nose?"

"Spotted Nose did see Pawnee Brown," was the answer; but this was a falsehood. An Indian hates to admit that he has been in any manner outwitted by a white man.

"You tell a good story, Dirty Nose." Pawnee Brown turned to Yellow Elk. "Yellow, how did you run across that girl?"

"Yellow Elk no tell his secrets," came the answer. "Pawnee Brown fool to ask. Pawnee Brown think him heap sly, like fox, but him sly only like cow!" This produced another laugh, for the Indians from the Indian Territory are not as stolid as were their forefathers, and thoroughly enjoy their own rude manner of joking.

Presently Yellow Elk turned to his companions and spoke to them in an undertone. A moment later he sped away, but whether in pursuit of Nellie Winthrop or not, Pawnee Brown could not tell.

The Indian chief was gone fully an hour, and came back looking unusually grave.

Pawnee Brown had tried in vain to get Spotted Nose and the other Indian to talk—to tell him why they had left the reservation. Not one would speak further than to tell him to keep quiet.

On returning, Yellow Elk at once set to work to rig up an upright pole from the floor to the ceiling of the cave, using a heavy tree branch for the purpose. The upright was placed close to where the smoke from the fire found a vent through several large cracks in the ceiling, and the boomer watched these proceedings with much alarm.

The Indians were erecting a fire-stake, such as they had used in the wild west when some victim was to be roasted alive!

"Heavens! can that be meant for me?" was the question he asked himself.

The stake planted and fastened firmly, Yellow Elk heaped some fresh, dry brush around its bottom and then came up to Pawnee Brown.

"Pawnee Brown see the fire-stake?" he asked, his savage eyes gleaming like two stars.

"I do, Yellow. Who is it for?"

"Why does Pawnee Brown ask? Does he not deserve death?"

"I suppose I do—according to your notion."

"Pawnee Brown shall burn—he shall burn slowly," went on Yellow Elk, meaning that he would make the great scout's torture last as long as possible.

"Your training on the reservation hasn't civilized you much, Yellow, if that's the way you feel about it."

"I hate white man—all of them," grumbled the Indian chief. "They take all my land away and put me in a little yard to live. I would kill all white man if could," and he grated his teeth.

A moment later Yellow Elk nodded to the other Indians and all leaped forward and bound Pawnee Brown fast to the fire-stake. This done the redskins heaped the brush around the scout's feet.

"Now the dirty white dog can die!" hissed Yellow Elk, as he advanced with a torch. "He can pray, but the white man's Great Father cannot save him! He must burn until his bones are as charcoal!"

And so speaking Yellow Elk thrust the torch into the dry brush and set it on fire!



CHAPTER XIV.

DICK TO THE RESCUE.

"That man is going to shoot Jack Rasco!"

Such was the thought which rushed into Dick Arbuckle's mind as he heard the fatal words spoken in the woods near the river bank.

He could not see either of the men, but he felt tolerably certain in his mind that Rasco's assailant was Stillwater, the gambler, who had been run out of Arkansas City by Pawnee Brown, Rasco, Clemmer and a dozen others.

"Would you kill me?" came in Rasco's voice. The boomer was concerned and was doing his best to gain time, in the hope that something would turn up to his advantage.

"Kill you?" sneered Stillwater. "Do you think I'm going to put up with the way I've been treated? Not much! I had a fine thing in Arkansas City—something worth a thousand a week to me, and you and your friends spoiled it all. I'm going to settle with you, and after that I shall hunt up Pawnee Brown and the rest and settle with them, also."

"You'll have your hands full a-settlin' with Pawnee."

"Bah! I am not afraid of him. He had me foul over to the Golden Pick, but I'll be careful when next we meet. But I'll not waste time with you here, Rasco. I've got you alone and 'dead men tell no tales.'"

"Alone?" Jack Rasco began to smile. "You're mistaken. Look behind you."

Stillwater started, but did not look back.

"That's an old dodge, Rasco, but you can't work it off on me. I have you alone and I'm going to end the business right here."

"Not yet!" cried a youthful voice behind Stillwater, and crash! down came a heavy stick, hitting the gambler squarely upon the head and sending him with a thud to the earth.

As Stillwater went down, Rasco leaped forward and came down upon him. But this movement was useless. The rascal was more than three-quarters knocked out and lay for several minutes helpless.

"I owe you one fer that, Dick Arbuckle!" cried Rasco, gratefully. "Yer came in the nick o' time!" Now the peril was over the boomer dropped back into his own peculiar manner of speech.

"I am glad I happened this way," returned Dick, as he drew a long breath. "Gosh! what a lot of excitement we are passing through out here! More than I experienced in all my life in New York."

"The West is the place fer stirrin' times, lad." Jack Rasco turned to his prostrate foe. "Wall, Stillwater, do yer think it war a trick now, tellin' yer ter look behind yer?"

The rascal answered with a groan.

"My head is split in two!" he cried. "Who struck me? What, that boy? I'll remember you, youngster, and some day——" He did not finish.

"I ain't done with yer yet, Stillwater," said Rasco. "You war goin' ter shoot me. I reckon turn about is fair play, ain't it?"

"Would you—you shoot me—now?" faltered the card sharp. At the bottom of his heart he was a coward.

"Why not?"

"I wasn't going to do it, Rasco—I was only—only scaring you."

"Thet's a whopper—made outer the hull cloth, Stillwater. Yer war going ter shoot me—an' I'm a-goin' ter be jess as accommodatin'," and on the sly Rasco winked at Dick who was much relieved to think the boomer did not really intend to carry out his blood-thirsty design.

The face of Stillwater grew as white as a sheet and he trembled from head to foot.

"Don't! don't you do it! Let me off, and I'll give you all the money I have with me."

"It won't do, Stillwater."

"It's nearly a thousand dollars. Take every cent of it and let me go!"

The gambler fairly grovelled at Jack Rasco's feet. His horror of dying was something fearful to contemplate.

"I'll give yer one chance, Stillwater," said Rasco, in deep disgust, and at once the rascal's face took on a look of hope. "Yer ain't fit ter die, an' thet's why I say it. Promise ter let me an' my friends alone in the future."

"I promise."

"Promise ter give up cheatin' at cards. If yer don't, some day it will be the death of yer."

"I'll never cheat again."

"All right, I'll take yer at yer word. Now come on down to the river."

"What for?"

"You hev got ter swim across to the other side whar yer belong. Decent folks ain't a-goin' ter have yer over here."

Again Stillwater was much disturbed. But Jack Rasco was firm, and soon the trio were down by the water's edge. Still pale, the gambler plunged into the river and struck out for the opposite shore. It was a hard battle against that current, but presently Rasco and Dick saw him wade out at the other side. He shook his fist at them savagely, then disappeared like a flash into the woods.

"He'll not keep any of his promises," said Dick.

"Keep 'em? Yer didn't expect it o' thet viper, lad? No, he's an enemy to the death. But whar did yer come from, and have yer found out anything about yer poor father?"

Dick's story was soon told, to which Rasco listened with much interest.

"I don't believe a boomer would rob yer father," said he, reflectively. "Like as not it war somebody who followed yer from New York—some man as knew the value of them air minin' deeds."

"Well, I'll go back to camp and make a search, anyway, Rasco. But what brought you here?"

"I'm lookin' fer my niece, Nellie Winthrop."

And Rasco told of the letter received and of how Nellie was missing and no trace of her could be found anywhere. Dick was almost as much disturbed as Rasco, for he still carried in his mind a picture of the beautiful girl he had saved from Juan Donomez's insults.

"Can the Mexican have waylaid her?" he asked.

"Perhaps," said the man of the plains. "But I've hunted the city high and low."

A short while after the two found themselves in the town once more. Nellie had put up at the Commercial Hotel, and to this hostelry they made their way and entered the office.

"No news of the young lady," said the clerk in charge, who had been interviewed before. "I am quite certain she started for the boomers' camp on horseback."

Rasco heaved a sigh.

"Might as well go back," he said to Dick, then as he saw the boy start he continued: "What's up? Do yer see anything of her?"

"No, Rasco. But look at that man, the fellow sitting down by the corner table in the reading room, he with the brown hat."

"I see him. What of him?"

"He's from New York—a fellow who used to come sneaking around father's office, trying to gather information about mining shares."

"Gee shoo, Dick! Yer don't mean it!" Jack Rasco was all attention instantly. "Maybe he's the rascal as knocked yer dad over?"

"Perhaps. If I—There is a man joining him."

"I've seen thet chap afore. 'Pears ter me he works fer the government."

"Do you know his name?"

"No. Wot's the other fellow's handle?"

"Dike Powell. He is known as a Wall street sharper. I wish I could hear what the two have to say to each other. Yet I don't want Dike Powell to see me."

"It's easy enough, lad. Thar's a window close to the table, an' it's open. We'll walk out on the veranda, and get under the opening. Come."

In a second more they were outside. Tiptoeing their way across the veranda, which was deserted, they soon found themselves close to the open window mentioned.

"And so that is settled," they heard the man from New York remark. "I am glad to hear it, Vorlange."

Vorlange! Dick started and so did Jack Rasco. The boy was trying to think where he had heard it before. Ah, he had it now. Many and many a time had he heard his parent murmur that name in his sleep, and the name was coupled with many other things, dreadful to remember. Surely there was some awful mystery here. What made his father mutter that name in his dreams, and why at such time was he talking of murder and hanging, and sobbing that he was innocent? A cold chill crept down the boy's backbone. Was the heart of that secret to be laid bare at last?



CHAPTER XV.

AN IMPORTANT CONVERSATION.

"Yes, it's settled, Powell; and as soon as we are done here with the boomers, I'll get to work and find out what the claim is worth."

"How about being shadowed in the affair?"

"I'm not afraid—I'm laying my plans too well," answered Louis Vorlange. "I would go ahead at once, but to throw up my position under the government just now might excite suspicions."

"Have you the papers with you?"

"No; I left them at the cavalry camp. They are too valuable to carry in one's coat pocket."

"Supposing the camp moves?"

"I have my belongings secreted in a nearby cave where they are as safe as in a deposit vault of a bank."

"Well, Vorlange, what am I to do now I am out here?"

"Remain in Arkansas City for the present and take it easy."

"You promised me a hundred dollars on my arrival."

"And there it is."

There was the rustle of bank notes.

"New money, eh?" was Dike Powell's comment. "Been printing some out here?"

"Not much. I know better than to go into the counterfeiting business."

Dick clutched Rasco's arm. The youth's face was full of concern.

"My father's money was in new bills," he whispered into his companion's ear. Rasco nodded, but quickly motioned for silence.

"I reckon this is drinks on me," said Powell, arising. "Come down to the bar before you go back to the cavalry camp."

"I'm in a hurry, Powell, but I'll take one glass," concluded Louis Vorlange, and the two men hurried from the reading-room.

"He is the man—I feel certain of it!" burst from Dick's lips, when he felt safe to speak. "Rasco, there is some mystery here. My father——" He stopped short and bit his lip.

"I know wot's in yer mind, Dick. I've heard yer father go on in his sleep, and war talkin' ter Pawnee Brown about it. An' Pawnee knows this air Vorlange. The two air enemies from school days. Pawnee said Vorlange wasn't squar nohow!"

"He is evidently in the employ of the government."

"Yes; a land-office spy, now workin' ag'in the boomers fer the cavalry as intends ter keep us out of Oklahoma."

"It will be hard to bring such a man to justice, without some direct evidence against him, Rasco."

"Don't yer try ter do it—yet, lad. Take my advice an' watch him. An' afore yer come down on him yer hed better question yer father about Vorlange."

At this Dick winced.

"Rasco, my father's manner is against him—I know that. But I'm certain he never committed a crime in his life."

"I believes yer, Dick. Yer father's a gentleman, every inch o' him; I seed thet the fust I clapped eyes on him. But knowin' the truth is one thing an' provin' it is another, especially in the wild west. This air Vorlange may hev yer father in a mighty tight hole, and if you show him up as the thief who stole the deeds an' the money, he may turn on yer dad and squeeze him mightily, see?"

"I see. But what shall I do just now?"

"Follow Vorlange and spy on to him all yer can. It ain't no ust ter hurry matters, with your father flat on his back. Powell will remain here and Vorlange will be with the cavalry, so yer will know whar ter clap eyes on ter both of 'em if it's necessary."

A moment's reflection convinced Dick that this was sound advice, and he said he would follow it, mentally resolved not to accuse Vorlange of anything until he had gotten his parent to confess to the true state of affairs.

By this time the boy and the man of the plains had left the veranda and walked around to where Rasco had left his horse. A moment later they saw Louis Vorlange hurry from the barroom of the hotel, leap upon his own animal, and strike out of town in a westerly direction.

"If I had a horse I'd follow him," began Dick, when Rasco motioned the youth to hop up behind. Soon they were riding after Vorlange, but not close enough to allow the spy to imagine that he was being followed.

"If you go after him you'll get no chance to hunt up your niece," began Dick, when the city was left behind.

"That's true, lad." Jack Rasco's face grew troubled. "I don't know wot's best ter do. It ain't fair ter let yer follow Vorlange alone; an' with only one hoss——hullo, wot does this mean? Carl Humpendinck, an' wavin' his hand to us like he war crazy."

Rasco had discovered the German boomer sweeping up a side trail. Humpendinck had made out Rasco but a second before and now shouted for the man of the plains to halt.

"What is it, Dutchy?" called out Rasco, when they were within speaking distance.

"Vot ist it? Donner und blitzen, Rasco, it vos der vorst news vot efer you heard!" burst from Carl Humpendinck's lips. "I chust here him apout quarter of an hour ago, und I ride der horse's legs off ter told yer."

"But what is it—out with it?"

"It's apout dot girl you vos lookin' for. Rosy Delaney, dot Irish vomans vot haf such a long tongue got, she tole me der sthory. Gott im himmel! it vos dreadful!"

"But tell me what it is, Dutchy!" exploded Rasco. "Wot is dreadful?"

"Der sthory she tole—I can's most believe him."

"See here, out with the whole thing, or I'll swat yer one on the cocoanut, Humpendinck!" roared Rasco. "Yer as long-winded ez a mule thet's gone blind."

"Gracious, Rasco, you vouldn't hit me, afther I ride me dree miles und more ter tole you?" wailed the German, reproachfully. "I dink me you vos mine pest friend, next to Pawnee Prown, ain't it?"

"There'll be a dead Dutchman here in another minute if yer don't open up clear down ter the bottom!" howled Rasco, who had never before suffered such exasperation.

"Tell us the exact trouble," put in Dick, calmly. He saw that exciting Humpendinck still more would do no good.

"Der Indian haf carried dot girl avay!" exploded Humpendinck.

"Carried the girl away!" ejaculated Dick.

"My Nellie?" yelled Rasco.

"Dot's it, Rasco. Ain't it awful! Dot Irish vomans seen dot Indian mit dot girl in his arms, flying der trail ofer like a biece of baber pefore a cyclone alretty!"

"Humpendinck, are you telling the truth?"

"I vos tole you vot dot Irish vomans tole me. Mike Delaney und dree udder mans vos lookin' for you."

On the instant Louis Vorlange was forgotten, not only by Rasco, ut also by Dick. It made both shudder to think that Nellie had been carried off by a redskin. They turned into the trail from which Humpendinck had emerged, and were soon on their way to the camp.

Here Rosy Delaney was found very much disturbed. She came up to Rasco wringing her hands.

"To think o' the red rascal a-takin' thet young leddy off!" she cried. "I know her by thet photygraph! Och, the villain! An' it moight have been Rosy Delaney, bad cess to him!"

"Show me the exact trail he followed," said Rasco, and this the Irish woman did willingly. Soon Rasco was tearing over the prairie, followed by Humpendinck, Delaney, Clemmer and by Dick, who borrowed a horse from another boomer.

The trail left by Yellow Elk was easily followed to the vicinity of Honnewell, but here it led away to the southwest and was swallowed up among the bushes and rocks leading down into the ravine previously mentioned.

"Oi reckon thot's the trail," said Delaney, after an examination.

"And I vos dink dot ist der trail," put in Humpendinck.

"An' I calkerlate this is the trail," added Cal Clemmer.

Each pointed in a different direction, while Rasco and Dick were of the opinion that none of them were right and that the trail led up the ravine, just as it really did.

An interruption now occurred. There was a stir in the bushes above their heads, and an elderly scout peered down upon them, rifle in hand.

"Hullo, Jack Rasco, wot's the best word? Whar is Pawnee Brown?"

"Dan Gilbert!" cried Rasco. "Come down, Pawnee ought to be somewhere about here."

In a moment more Dan Gilbert, a heavy-set, pleasant-looking frontiersman, stood among them. A hasty consultation immediately followed. Dan Gilbert was on his way back to where he had left the blaze on the tree, and it was decided that Rasco and Dick should accompany him, while Clemmer, Delaney and Humpendinck went to reconnoitre in the opposite direction. A double pistol shot from either party was to bring the other to its aid.

In less than five minutes the first party was on its way to the blazed tree. Dan Gilbert feeling certain that if Pawnee Brown had passed that way he must have seen the sign and left word of his own.

"If Pawnee was down here you can bet he spotted that Injun if he came within a hundred yards of him," said Gilbert. "He can smell a red like a cat can smell a rat."

The tree reached, the frontiersman threw back the flat rock and brought forth the message left by the great scout. He read it aloud.

"Following Yellow Elk!" cried Jack Rasco. "I know the rascal! And it was he as stole my gal! Jess wait till I git my hand on his windpipe, thet's all! Whar's thet cave, Gilbert?"

"I don't know, but it must be somewhere up the ravine. Come on."

And away went the trio, on the hunt for Yellow Elk, Pawnee Brown and poor Nellie Winthrop.



CHAPTER XVI.

ATTACKED BY A WILDCAT.

"You fiend!"

This was all Pawnee Brown could say, as with a face full of bitter hatred Yellow Elk advanced and applied the torch to the dry brush which encircled his feet.

In vain the great scout endeavored to wrench himself free from the fire-stake. Yellow Elk and his followers had done their work well and he was held as in a vise.

"Pawnee Brown shall burn slowly," said the Indian chief, hoping to make the scout show the white feather. "Yellow Elk will watch that the fire does not mount to his body too quickly."

"If you want to kill me why don't you put a bullet through my heart and have done with it," said the boomer as coolly as he could. The fire was now burning around his feet and ankles and the pain was increasing with every second of time.

"White man shall learn what it is to suffer," said Spotted Nose. "He killed my friend, the Little Mule."

"Your friend tried to take my life."

"Bah! say no more but burn! burn!" hissed Yellow Elk.

And with a stick he shoved the flaming brush closer in around the scout's legs.

It was a fearful moment—a moment in which Pawnee Brown's life hung by a single thread. The flames were leaping up all around him. He closed his eyes and half murmured a prayer for divine aid.

Crack! bang! crack! Two pistol shots and the report of a rifle echoed throughout the cave, and as Pawnee Brown opened his eyes in astonishment Spotted Nose threw up his arms and fell forward in the flames at his feet, dead! The Indian who had been with Spotted Nose also went down, mortally wounded, while Yellow Elk was hit in the left arm.

"Down with the reds!" came in the ringing voice of Jack Rasco, and he appeared from out of a cloud of smoke, closely followed by Dan Gilbert and Dick. "Pawnee! Am I in time? I hope ter Heaven I am!"

"Jack!" cried the great scout. A slash of Rasco's hunting knife and he was free. "Good for you!" and then Pawnee Brown had his hands full for several minutes beating out the flames which had ignited his boot soles and the bottoms of his trousers.

"We plugged the three of 'em," said Gilbert. "I knocked thet one," and he pointed to the Indian who was breathing his last.

"I hit the Indian with the yellow plume," put in Dick, and he could not help but shudder.

"That was Yellow Elk," said Rasco. "But whar is he now?"

All the white men turned quickly, looking up and down the cave. It was useless. Yellow Elk had disappeared.

"He must not escape!" cried Pawnee Brown. "I have an account to settle with him for starting that fire."

"But whar is Nellie?" asked Rasco, impatiently, looking around with a falling face.

"She ran away when the other Indians came to Yellow Elk's assistance," answered Pawnee Brown, and in a few hurried words he told his story.

"Then she can't be far off."

"Let us hunt for her at once," cried Dick, and his enthusiasm made the men laugh, at which the boy blushed furiously.

"Never mind, Dick, yer don't think no more of her nor I do," said Rasco. "Which way, Pawnee?"

"This way, boys." The scout turned to the Indian who had been wounded. "Dead as a door nail. Pity it wasn't Yellow Elk."

"So say I," answered Rasco. "But we'll git him yet, mark my words!"

With all possible speed they ran out of the cave and to the spot where they had left their horses. Here a disagreeable surprise awaited them. Every animal was gone, including the one Pawnee Brown had ridden.

"More of Yellow Elk's work!" muttered the boomer. "I'll tell you, men, that red is a corker, and as a dead Indian he couldn't be beat."

"I declar' this most stumps me!" growled Dan Gilbert. "Here's the trail plain enough, but it's all out of the question ter follow on shank's own mare."

"Let us hunt up Clemmer and the others," suggested Jack Rasco.

"We must be cautious—the cavalry may be somewhere in the vicinity," added Pawnee Brown. "How the redskins escaped them is a mystery to me."

"They are evidently as sly as their forefathers," said Dick. "But, really, something ought to be done. If we—hullo, there's a horse down in yonder clearing!"

"Bonnie Bird!" shouted Pawnee Brown, in great delight. It was indeed the beautiful mare. A second cry and the steed came bounding up to her master.

"Now I can follow even if the others can't," said the scout. "Rasco, it's a pity you haven't a mount. It is no more than right that you should follow up your niece. If you insist upon it I'll let you have Bonnie Bird. I wonder if Nellie or the redskin had her?"

"I won't take yer horse, Pawnee—it's askin' too much," answered Rasco. "Supposin' we both mount her? If Bonnie Bird got away from Yellow Elk it's more'n likely one of the other hosses got away, too."

"That's so. Well, get up, Jack, and let us lose no time."

Soon both men were mounted. A few words all around followed, and it was agreed that Dick and Gilbert should try to hunt up Clemmer and the others, and then away went Pawnee Brown and Rasco upon Yellow Elk's trail.

Suddenly Jack Rasco uttered a cry.

"See, Pawnee, here's whar another of the hosses got away. Hang me if I don't think it war my hoss, too!"

"Yes, and here is where the horse dropped into a walk," he answered. "I don't believe he can be far off."

Without delay Rasco slid to the ground.

"I'll follow him up afoot," he declared. "I'm fresh and can run it putty good. You go ahead with the regular trail."

The trail left by Yellow Elk ran down along the edge of the stream for a distance of perhaps a hundred yards, then it came out on a series of flat rocks and was lost to view.

Pawnee Brown came to a halt. Had Yellow Elk crossed the stream, or doubled on the trail and gone back?

Dismounting, he got down upon his hands and knees and examined the last hoof-prints with extreme care.

The examination lasted for fully ten minutes. No white man could follow a trail better than this leader of the boomers, yet for the time being he was baffled.

Yellow Elk had led the horses into the water, but the trail did not extend across the stream.

"He's an artful dodger!" mused Pawnee Brown, when of a sudden he became silent.

A faint scratching, as of tree bark, had come to his ears. The noise was but a short distance away.

"Some animal," he thought. "No human being would make such a sound as that."

Another ten seconds of painful silence followed. The scratching sound had just been resumed when Bonnie Bird wheeled about as if on a pivot.

"Ha!"

The exclamation came from between Pawnee Brown's set teeth. There, from between the branches of a tree just in front of him, glared a pair of yellowish-green eyes.

The blazing optics belonged to a monstrous wildcat!

As quick as a flash Pawnee Brown raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.

Crack! The wildcat was hit in the side. The shot was a glancing one and did but little damage.

Whirr! down came the body straight for the boomer, landing half upon his shoulder and half upon Bonnie Bird's mane.

The little mare was thoroughly frightened, and giving a snort and a plunge she threw both rider and wildcat to the ground.

As Pawnee Brown went down he tried to push the monstrous cat from him, but the beast had its claws fastened in the scout's clothing and could not be shook off.

Crack! Again Pawnee Brown fired. The flash was almost directly in the wildcat's face, and shot in the left forepaw the beast uttered a fearful howl of pain and dropped back.

But only for an instant. The pain only increased its anger, and with gleaming teeth it crouched down and made another spring, right for the boomer's throat.

Crack! crack! twice again the pistol rang out. But the big cat was now wary and both shots failed to take effect.

The pistol being now empty, Pawnee Brown hurled it at the enraged beast, striking it in the nose and eliciting another scream of rage.

Then, as the wildcat came on for a final attack, the scout pulled out his hunting knife.

As the wildcat came down the hand holding the hunting knife was raised, with the blade of the knife pointing upward.

A lightning-like swing and a thrust, and for one brief instant the wildcat was poised in the air, upon the very blade of the long knife.

The blow had been a true one, the knife point reaching the beast's heart, and when the animal fell it rolled down among the leaves, dead.

"By thunder! but that was something I hadn't bargained for!" murmured the great scout, as he surveyed the carcass. "That's about the biggest wildcat I ever saw. It's a good thing I didn't meet him in the dark."

Wiping off his hunting knife, he restored it to his belt. Then he picked up his pistol and started to reload it, at the same time whistling for Bonnie Bird, who, he felt sure, must be close by.

As Pawnee Brown stood reloading the pistol and whistling for his mare he did not notice a shadow behind him. Slowly but surely someone was drawing closer to him. It was Yellow Elk.

The Indian chief was on foot. In his left hand he carried a cocked revolver, in his right an old-time tomahawk, from which he had refused to be parted when placed on the Indian reservation.

The redskin's face was full of the most bitter animosity it is possible to imagine. The glare of wickedness in his eyes fairly put the look that had lived in the wildcat's optics to shame. His snags of yellow teeth were firmly set.

He was resolved to kill his enemy there and then. Pawnee Brown should not again escape him.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE MEETING IN THE WOODS.

After leaving Pawnee Brown, Jack Rasco followed the trail of his horse through a small grove of trees and along the upper bank of the very stream upon which the great scout encountered Yellow Elk.

"Blamed ef he didn't go further nor I expected," muttered Rasco to himself as he trudged along. But the hoof-prints were now growing fresher and fresher, telling that the animal could not be far off.

The woods passed, he began ascending a small hill. At the top of this was a level patch, thickly overgrown with short brush.

He had just entered the brush when he heard a strange sound. He listened intently.

"Thet's a hoss in pain," he said to himself. "Too bad if the critter hez had a tumble an' broke a leg! If that's—— By gum!"

Jack had stumbled upon a large opening directly in the midst of the brush. Before he could turn back the very soil beneath his feet gave way, and over and over he rolled down an incline of forty-five degrees, to bring up at last at the edge of a pool of black water and mud.

Fortunately he was not hurt, although the roll had dazed him and cut short his wind. As soon as he could he leaped to his feet and gazed around him.

The horse he had heard lay half in and half out of the mud. Its leg was caught between two rocks, and it was trying frantically to free itself. It was his own beast, and at once recognized him.

"Whoa there!" cried Rasco, and did all he could to soothe the animal. The horse appeared to understand that assistance was at hand, and became quiet, while Rasco quickly released the locked leg and the beast floundered up to a safe footing.

"Well, we're in a pocket, 'pears ter me," reflected the man of the plains as he gazed about him. On three sides the walls of the hole were very nearly perpendicular, on the fourth the slant was as previously stated, but here the soil was spongy and treacherous.

"Hang me ef I'm a-goin' ter stay here all day," muttered Rasco, after a view of the situation. "Come, boy, it's up thet slope or nuthin'," and he leaped on the horse's back and urged him forward on a run.

Twice did the horse try to ascend to the plain above and fail. Then Rasco urged him forward a third time. This time the beast balked and away went the man of the plains over his head.

Fortunately Rasco landed in a tolerably soft spot, otherwise his neck would surely have been broken. As it was, his head struck the root of a fallen tree, which had once stood upon the edge of the hole, and he rolled back near the pool all but senseless.

It was a quarter of an hour later before he felt like stirring again.

"Hang the hoss!" he murmured half aloud, yet, all told, he did not blame the animal so much for balking. "Couldn't do it, eh, boy?" he said, and the beast shook his mane knowingly.

"Git along alone, then!" went on Rasco, and struck the horse on the flank.

Away went the steed, and this time the top of the hole was gained without much difficulty.

"Now you're out, how am I ter make it?"

It was easy to ask this question, but not so easy to answer it. Rasco tried to run up the spongy incline and sank to his knees.

"Ain't no use; I'll try a new game," he growled.

Fortunately, Rasco was in the habit of carrying, in cowboy fashion, a lariat suspended from his belt. This he now unwound and with a dexterous throw caught the outer loop over a sturdy bush growing over one of the perpendicular sides of the opening.

Testing the lariat, to make certain it was firm, he began to ascend hand over hand. This was no light task, yet it was speedily accomplished, and with a sigh of relief he found himself safe once more.

But in the meantime the horse had trotted off, alarmed by a black snake in the long grass. Rasco saw this snake a minute later, but the reptile slunk out of sight before he could get a chance to dispatch it.

The trail of the horse led again back to the ravine, but not in the direction of the cave. Bound to secure the animal before rejoining Pawnee Brown, Rasco loped along in pursuit.

He was in the ravine, and had just caught sight of his steed once more, when he heard several pistol shots coming from a distance. These were the shots fired by Pawnee Brown at the wildcat. He listened intently, but no more shots followed, and being below the level of the surrounding country, he was unable to locate the discharge of firearms.

"Something is wrong somewhar," he mused. "Can thet be Pawnee shootin', or is it Dick an' the others?"

He secured the horse and began to ascend out of the ravine, when a murmur of voices broke upon his ears. One of the voices sounded familiar and he soon recognized it as that of Louis Vorlange.

Instantly dismounting, he tied his animal fast to a tree that the creature might not wander away again, and worked his way noiselessly through the brush. The voices came from a nearby clearing, and approaching, Rasco saw on horseback Louis Vorlange and half a dozen cavalrymen, among them Tucker, Ross and Skimmy, the trio who had sought to detain Dick as a horse thief.

"I feel certain they will come this way," one of the strange troopers was saying. "I saw at least two boomer spies along yonder ravine."

"They will come to Honnewell," answered Vorlange. "It may be that instead of making a rush they will try to sneak in during the night, one at a time."

"We'll be ready for 'em," muttered Tucker. "I know my meat," he added, significantly, to Vorlange, meaning that he had not forgotten the reward offered if, in a battle he should lay Pawnee Brown and Dick low. At the words Vorlange nodded.

"When will the reinforcements be up this way?" asked Ross.

"I have already sent word to headquarters," answered Vorlange. "The lieutenant is sure to respond without delay."

"Do you reckon the boomers know we are on hand to stop them?" questioned Skimmy.

"They know nothing," answered Vorlange. "If Pawnee Brown leads his men in this direction they will fall directly into a trap—if the lieutenant does as I have advised, and I think he will."

"I hope the boomers start to fight and give us a chance to wipe 'em out," muttered Ross.

"There will be a fight started, don't you fear," answered Vorlange.

The spy meant what he said. Too cowardly to meet Pawnee Brown face to face, he wanted to make sure that the great scout should be killed.

This would happen if a battle came off, for he felt sure Tucker would do exactly as he promised.

Vorlange had determined to be on hand. Secreted in a tree or elsewhere he could fire a dozen shots or so into the air, and this would arouse both cavalrymen and boomers to think that actual hostilities had already started, and then neither side would longer hold off.

"When will the boomers move?" was one of the cavalryman's questions.

"They are waiting for Pawnee Brown," said the spy.

"Where is he?"

"Somewhere about the country."

"Can he be up here?"

Vorlange started.

"I—I think not.

"He's a slick one, Vorlange; remember that."

"I know it, but some men are slicker. Wait until this boom is busted and you'll never hear of Pawnee Brown again."

So the talk ran on. Rasco listened with much interest, forgetting the fact that he had promised to follow Pawnee Brown as soon as the stray-away horse was secured.

What he had heard surprised him greatly.

Many of the plans of the boomers, made in such secrecy, were known to the government authorities. The plan to move westward to Honnewell was known, and a passage through to Oklahoma from that direction was, consequently, out of the question.

"The boys must know of this," thought Rasco. "I must tell Clemmer and Gilbert before I try to hunt up Pawnee again, or go after Nellie. If there was a fight as Vorlange seems to think, there might be a hundred or more killed."

Having overheard all that he deemed necessary, the man of the plains started to retreat.

He had taken but a few steps when he found himself cut off from his horse.

Three additional cavalrymen were approaching from the thicket.

"Here's a horse tied up!" cried one. "Boys, whose animal is this?"

The call instantly attracted the attention of Vorlange and his companions. They turned toward the speaker, and now there remained nothing for Rasco to do but to run for it, and this he did at the top of his speed.

As long as he could he kept out of sight behind the bushes. But soon Tucker caught sight of him.

"Halt, or I'll fire!" came the command.

Tucker spoke first, and several others followed. As Rasco was now in plain view, and as each of the enemy had a firearm of some sort aimed at him, it would have been foolishness to have thus courted death, and the man of the plains halted.

"It is Jack Rasco!" cried Vorlange. "Boys, this is Pawnee Brown's right-hand man!"

"I know him!" growled Tucker. "Rasco, you're in a box now and don't you forget it. You've been spying on us."

"Make him a prisoner," said another of the cavalrymen, an under officer. "If he is a spy we'll have to take him back to the fort and turn him over to the captain."

A minute later Jack Rasco found himself a close prisoner. It was destined to be some time ere he again obtained his liberty. Thus were his chances of helping Pawnee Brown cut off.



CHAPTER XVIII.

A CRY FROM THE DARKNESS.

Let us return to Pawnee Brown, who, totally unconscious of the fact that Yellow Elk was creeping up behind him, stood beside the body of the dead wildcat, re-loading the empty revolver.

One of the chambers of the firearm had been loaded, when something about the pistol caused the great scout to examine it more closely. As he was doing this Yellow Elk advanced to within three feet of him and raised the tomahawk for the fatal blow.

At this terrible moment it must surely have been Providence which interfered in the boomer's behalf, for, totally unconscious of his peril, he would have done absolutely nothing to save himself. He bent over the pistol more closely.

"That trigger seems to catch," he thought, and threw the weapon up and fired it over his shoulder, just to test it.

The bullet did not pass within a yard of Yellow Elk, but the movement came so unexpectedly that the Indian chief was taken completely off his guard and dropped back as though actually shot. His cry of astonishment and fear lasted longer than did the pistol report, and Pawnee Brown swung around to confront him.

"Yellow Elk!" came from his lips, when whizz! the tomahawk left the redskin's hand and came swirling through the air directly for his head. He dropped like lightning, and the keen blade sank deeply into the tree behind him.

"Wough!" grunted the Indian when he saw how he had missed his mark. Then he leveled the pistol in his left hand at Pawnee Brown's head.

The great scout felt his position was still a trying one. His own shooter, though still in hand, was empty. He pointed it and started to back away to the tree behind him.

"Stop, or I kill!" commanded Yellow Elk, but instead of complying, the scout took a flying leap to a safe shelter. Seeing this, Yellow Elk also lost no time in getting behind cover.

With the pistol loaded once more the boomer felt safer. He listened intently for some movement upon the part of his enemy, but none came. The Indian is a great hand at playing a waiting game and Yellow Elk was no exception to this rule.

"Well, if you can wait, so can I," thought Pawnee Brown and settled down with eyes and ears on the alert. He thought of Nellie Winthrop and of Rasco, and wondered what had become of uncle and niece. He did not want to wait, feeling it was important to get back to the boomers' camp, but there was no help for it, and he remained where he was.

Fifteen minutes went by and no sound broke the stillness saving that of the water in the brook as it flowed down over a series of rocks. Then came the faint crack of a single dry twig over upon his left. He turned around and blazed away in that direction.

A fierce but suppressed exclamation in the Indian tongue followed, showing that Yellow Elk had been hit. How serious the Indian chief was injured there was no telling. It might be only a flesh wound, it might have been fatal and Yellow Elk might have died without further sound, and then again it might be only a ruse. Again Pawnee Brown paused to listen.

Thus another quarter of an hour was wasted. It must be confessed that the great scout's nerves were strung to the topmost tension. At any moment a shot might come which would end his life. It was ten times more trying than to stand up in line of battle, for the enemy could not be seen.

Again came the crack of a twig, but very faint, showing that the sound came from a distance. There followed a faint splash, some distance up the stream. Yellow Elk was retreating.

"I reckon I hit him pretty bad," mused Pawnee Brown. "But I'll go slow—it may be only a trick," and away he crawled as silently as a snail along the brook's bank.

Inside of the next half hour he had covered a territory of many yards on both sides of the brook. In one spot he had seen several drops of blood and the finger marks of a bloody hand. Yellow Elk, however, had completely disappeared.

"He is gone, and so is the trail," muttered the great scout at last. He spoke the truth. Further following of the Indian chief was just then out of the question.

"There is one thing to be thankful for," he mused. "I don't believe he captured Nellie Winthrop again after he left the cave. I wonder what has become of that girl?"

Bonnie Bird had wandered down the brook for a drink and instantly returned at her master's call. With something of a sigh at not having finished matters with Yellow Elk the boomer leaped once again into the saddle and turned back in the direction from whence he had come.

It was now growing dark, and the great scout felt that he must ere long return to the boomers' camp and give the order necessary to start the long wagon train on its way westward to Honnewell. Little did he dream of what the government spy and the cavalrymen had discovered and how Jack Rasco had been taken prisoner.

"Pawnee!"

It was a cry from a patch of woods to the northward, and straining his eyes he saw Cal Clemmer waving his sombrero toward him. Scout and cowboy boomer were soon together.

"Well, whar's Rasco and the gal?" were Clemmer's first words.

"Both gone—I don't know where, Cal. Where are the other boys?"

"Started back toward Honnewell; thet is, all but Dick Arbuckle. He's over ter yonder spring gittin' a drink o' water."

"I am sorry I failed to find the girl," said Pawnee Brown. "She must have wandered off in the woods and got lost. I am quite certain the Indians did not spot her again."

"And Jack?"

"Went off after his horse."

"Wot do yer advise us ter do—stay here?"

"I am afraid staying here will do no good, Cal. I must get back to camp and start the wagons up. I know they won't move a step unless I am personally there to give directions. The old boomers are all afraid of being fooled by some trick of the soldiers."

"Thet's so. Wall, if yer want me ter stay here I'll stay—otherwise I'll go back," concluded Clemmer.

Dick now came up, as anxious as Clemmer had been to know the news. His face grew very sober when he heard that Nellie had not been found.

"I wish I knew more of this territory—I'd go after her myself," he said, earnestly. "I hope you won't abandon the search?"

"Oh, no, lad; that is not my style. But I must get back to the camp first and start the train along. I'll be on this ground again by midnight."

"Then why can't I stay here? I am not afraid."

"Alone?" ejaculated Clemmer.

"Yes—if you want to join Pawnee."

"By gosh, but that boy's nervy fer a city chap!" cried the cowboy boomer, in admiration.

"Well, you know there's a girl in this, Cal," rejoined Pawnee Brown, dryly. "And I reckon she's a girl well worth going through fire and water for."

At this Dick blushed.

"I want to find out about Rasco, too," he hastened to say. "You know I was going through with him, and he was going to do some business for my father, later on."

The matter was talked over for several minutes, and it was at last decided that Dick should secrete himself in a thicket and stand watch there or close by until he heard from Pawnee Brown again.

"Be on your guard, boy, for enemies may be thick here," were the boomer's last words of caution. "Don't uncover to anybody until you are positive it is a friend."

"And here's a bite for yer," added Clemmer, handing out some rations he carried in a haversack. "You'll get mighty hungry ere the sun comes up again."

In a minute more the two horsemen were galloping away. Dick watched them until they were lost to view, then dropped to a sitting position on a flat rock in the centre of a clump of trees.

The youth's heart beat rather strongly. He was not used to this sort of thing. How different the prairies and woods were to the city streets and buildings.

"Lonesome isn't a name for it," he mused. "Puts me in mind of one vast cemetery—a gigantic Greenwood, only there aren't any monuments. What is that?"

There was a flutter and a whirl, and Dick grasped his pistol tighter. It was only a night-bird, starting up now that the sun was beginning to set.

Soon the woods and the prairies began to grow dark. The sun was lost to view behind tall trees which cast shadows of incalculable length. It grew colder, too, and he buttoned his light coat tightly about him.

To pass the time he began to eat some of the food left behind by Clemmer. It was not particularly appetizing, and in the city Dick might have passed it by for something better. But just then it tasted "just boss," to use Dick's own words. A bracing air and hunger are the best sauces in the world.

An hour had gone by, and all was dark, when Dick started up from a reverie into which he had fallen. What was that which had reached his ears from a distance? Was it a cry, or merely the moaning of the rising wind?

He listened. No, it was not the wind—it was a cry—a girl's voice—the voice of Nellie Winthrop!

"It is Nellie!" came from his set lips, and his face grew pale. Again came the cry, but this time more faintly.

From what direction had that cry for help proceeded? In vain the boy asked himself that question. He was not used to a life in the open and the rising wind was very deceptive.

"I must find her!" he gasped, leaping from the rocks. "I shan't remain here while she is in trouble."

He had no horse the men being unable to provide him with one when they had come together, but for this he did not care. He was resolved to aid the girl if such a thing were possible.

Away he went over the prairie at a rapid gait, in the direction from whence he imagined the cry had proceeded. Two hundred yards were covered and he came to a halt and listened. Not a sound broke the stillness, although he fancied he heard the hoof-strokes of a horse at a great distance.

Then he turned in another direction, and then another. It was all to no purpose. No trace of the girl could be found. He gave a groan.

"It's no use; she's gone and that is all there is to it. Poor girl!"

With a sinking heart he set off to return to the spot from whence he had come. He advanced a dozen steps, then halted and stared about him.

Suddenly an awful truth burst upon him. He was lost among the brush!



CHAPTER XIX.

NELLIE MEETS VORLANGE.

What had that awful cry heard by Dick meant?

To learn the particulars, we must go back to the time when Nellie Winthrop started to escape from the cave in the cliff.

The heart of the poor girl almost stopped beating as she saw Pawnee Brown face about, ready to defend both her and himself from any enemy who might appear to help Yellow Elk.

Urged by the great scout, she set off on a hasty run for the mouth of the cave.

Before the entrance was gained she heard the crack of a pistol, but whether fired by the boomer or an Indian she could not tell.

"Heaven spare that brave man!" was the prayer which came to her almost bloodless lips.

She looked around in vain for the horse spoken of by Pawnee Brown. Not an animal was in sight. Then she remembered what the scout had said about riding down the ravine, and she set off on foot.

Not far from the mouth of the cave the ravine forked into two branches, the smaller fork ending at the distance of quarter of a mile in a cul de sac, or blind pocket. Not knowing she was making any mistake, she entered this fork and kept on running, expecting each instant to find Pawnee Brown coming up behind her.

"Oh, dear, I can't be right!"

Such was the cry which escaped her when she came to a halt, realizing she could go no further in that direction. On both sides and in front arose a series of rocks, more or less steep, and covered only with scrub brush, impossible to ascend.

She looked behind. No one was coming. All about her was as silent as a tomb.

"Perhaps I had better go back," she mused, but the thought of encountering an Indian made her shiver. In her life in the open she had had many an encounter with a wild animal, but redskins were as yet almost new to her, and her experience with the hideous Yellow Elk had been one she did not care to repeat.

She had just turned to move back to the ravine proper, when a sound among the rocks caused her to pause. She looked intently in the direction, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

"Hullo, there, miss; what are you doing away out here?"

The cry came from the rocks on her right. Turning swiftly, she saw an evil-looking man scowling down upon her from a small opening under one of the rocky walls of the cul de sac. The man was Louis Vorlange.

Nellie did not know the fellow; indeed she had never heard of him. But there was that in the spy's manner which was not at all reassuring as he leaped down to where she stood.

"I say, how did you come here?" went on Vorlange.

"I—I just escaped from an Indian who carried me off from Arkansas City," answered Nellie.

"An Indian! Who was it, do you know?"

"A fellow named Yellow Elk."

Vorlange uttered a low whistle.

"Where is he now?" he questioned.

"I left him back in yonder hills, in a cave."

Again the spy uttered a whistle, but whether of surprise or dismay Nellie could not tell.

"Were you alone with Yellow Elk?"

"I was for a time. But a white man came to my aid and the two had a fight."

"Who was the white man?"

Before she gave the matter a second thought, Nellie answered:

"Mr. Pawnee Brown."

"Ha!" Vorlange's eyes gleamed, and the girl felt certain she had made a mistake.

"Where is Pawnee Brown now?"

"I left him in the cave with the Indian. I expected him to follow me."

"I see. And what may your name be?"

The man's words were fair enough, but Nellie did not like his manner at all, so she turned upon him coldly.

"And what is your name, and who are you?"

"I am not here to answer questions, miss. I am a government official, let that be enough for you to know."

As he spoke Louis Vorlange caught Nellie by the arm.

"Let go of me," cried the frightened girl, and attempted to pull away, but Vorlange held her tight.

"You come along with me. No one, and especially Pawnee Brown, has any right in this territory just now, and it is my business to see that all such people are kept out. I presume you belong to that crowd of boomers, since you say you were carried off from Arkansas City?"

"I shall answer no more of your questions, sir. Let me go!"

"You'll come along with me," muttered Vorlange. "I take it you know what the boomers intend to do, and, if that is so, your information is just what the government wants."

So speaking he attempted to drag Nellie up the rocks to the opening before mentioned. The girl resisted with all of her strength, and Vorlange received a box on the left ear which made that member of his body hum for a long time after.

"You little wretch!" he cried, as he caught her up in his arms. "I will get square with you for that."

"You are no gentleman! Let me go!" replied Nellie. Then she attempted to scream, but he promptly clapped his hand over her mouth.

In another moment, despite her utmost struggles, he was carrying her up to the opening. This spot once reached, he took her inside and over to a well-like hole upon one side.

"Do you see that hole?" he said sternly. "I am going to put you in that for the present, for safe keeping. I call it my prison cell, and no cell could be better. It is not a cheerful place, but you will be as safe there as in the best prison in Chicago or San Francisco. I'll be back for you soon, and in the meantime you had better make no attempt to escape, for at the mouth of this opening is set a gun, with a wire attachment, which may blow you up."

This latter statement was a false one, but Vorlange rightfully calculated that it would have its due effect upon the frightened girl.

Having thus intimidated Nellie, Vorlange lowered her into the opening in the rocks, which was about six feet in diameter and at least ten feet deep. This done, he lit a lantern and hung it so that its rays might shine down upon his captive.

"You won't feel so lonesome with the light," he said. "Now keep quiet until I return. If you behave yourself you have nothing to fear. I am a government officer and I am holding you as a prisoner only until I can turn you over to the proper authorities."

"It is a—a queer proceeding," faltered Nellie. She could hardly bring herself to believe the man.

"Out here we can't do things exactly as they are done in the big cities," grinned Vorlange. "We are out here after the boomers just now, and your being here with Pawnee Brown will rather go against you. But keep quiet now until I return."

Thus speaking, the spy quirted the opening, leaving Nellie alone. With hasty steps Vorlange made his way along the fork of the ravine until the opening proper was reached. Here he settled himself in a tree to watch for Pawnee Brown's possible coming. But, as we know, the scout did not move in that direction.

For over two hours Nellie was left alone, a prey to the keenest mental torture it is possible to imagine. As the day was drawing to a close Vorlange appeared, a peculiar smile upon his face.

He had met the cavalrymen, and Jack Rasco had been captured as previously described.

"Well, we are going to move now," he said to Nellie, and threw down a rope that he might haul her up out of the hole.

"Where to?"

"You'll learn that later."

As she did not wish to remain in that damp spot longer, she caught the rope and was drawn up. Then Vorlange took her outside and sat her down before him on his horse, first, however, tying her hands.

It was during the ride that followed that Dick heard her cry for help and started to her rescue, only to miss her and get lost in the brush.

A ride of half an hour brought the pair to the edge of a heavy timber. Through this they picked their way, until a small clearing was gained, where was located a low log cabin, containing two rooms. The log cabin was not inhabited, and Vorlange pushed open the door without ceremony.

"You'll stay here over night," he said, as he ushered Nellie into the smaller room. "You can see this has been used for a prison before, as all of the windows are nailed up. I don't believe you'll try to escape anyway, for, let me warn you, it won't pay. Make yourself as comfortable as you can, and in the morning we'll come to an understanding. We've got another prisoner besides yourself, and between the two of you I reckon we'll find out before long just what the boomers are up to."

And with a dark look upon his face, Louis Vorlange stalked out of the apartment, locking the door after him, and thus leaving Nellie to her fate.



CHAPTER XX.

THE MOVING OF THE BOOMERS.

"Pawnee Brown at last!"

The words came from one of the boomers, a fat but spry old chap named Dunbar.

"Yes, Dunbar," answered the great scout. "Were you getting anxious about me?"

"Well, just a trifle, Pawnee."

"The camp must move at once. Send the word around immediately, Dunbar."

"Whar do we move to?"

"To Honnewell. As soon as all hands are at Honnewell I'll send out further orders."

In less than half an hour the immense wagon train organized by the boomers located in Kansas was on the way.

At the front rode Pawnee Brown, Clemmer and several others who were personal friends of the scout.

It was a grand sight, this moving. To this day some of the boomers say it was the grandest sight they ever beheld.

Every heart was full of hope. Past trials and hardships were forgotten. The boomers were to enter the richest farming lands in the States and there start life anew.

The movement was made in silence and in almost utter darkness. Of course, it was impossible to hide the news from the citizens of Arkansas City, but the train was well on its way before the news had any chance of spreading.

At the time of which we write there were several trails to Honnewell from Arkansas City. The regular road was a fair one in good weather, but, after such a rain as had fallen, this trail was hub-deep with mud in more than one spot.

"Oi'll not go thot trail," was Delaney's comment. "Oi'll take the upper road."

"Thot's roight, Mike," put in Rosy, his wife. "It's not meself as wants to stick fast in this black mud. Sure, and it's worse nor the bogs of Erin!"

"Vot's dot road you vos speakin' apout alretty?" put in Humpendinck, who had as heavy a wagon as anyone.

"It's a better road nor this, Humpy," replied Mike Delaney. "Folly me an' we'll rach Honnewell afore enny of 'em, mark me wurrud."

Thus encouraged, Humpendinck followed Delaney on the upper trail, and, seeing the two go off, half a dozen followed.

It was more than half an hour after before Pawnee Brown heard of their departure.

The great scout was much disturbed.

"It's foolishness for them to start off on the upper trail," he declared. "I went over it but a few days ago, and at Brown's Crossing the road is all torn up by a freshet. Besides that, we must keep together."

"Yer right thar, Pawnee," answered Clemmer. "Delaney ought to know better. But yer can't tell the Irish anything."

"Humpendinck went with him," put in Dunbar, who had brought the news.

"Both the Irishman and the German are smart enough in their way," answered Pawnee Brown. "But they've made a mistake. Cal and Dunbar, you continue at the head, and I'll ride across country and head Delaney and his crowd back through the Allen trail. I'll probably rejoin you just this side of Honnewell."

With this command, Pawnee Brown left the wagon train and plunged off through the darkness alone.

He had been over that district many times and thought he knew about every foot of the ground.

But for once the great scout was mistaken, and that mistake was destined to bring him into serious difficulty.

About half a mile had been covered, and he was just approaching a patch of small timber, when he noticed that Bonnie Bird began to show signs of shyness. She did not refuse to go forward, but evidently was proceeding against her will.

Quick to notice a change in the beautiful mare's mood, Pawnee Brown spoke to her. She pawed the ground and tossed her head.

"What is it, Bonnie? Danger ahead?"

Again the mare pawed the ground. Feeling certain something was wrong, Pawnee Brown stood up in his stirrups and looked about him.

All was dark and silent upon every side. Overhead the faint stars shed but an uncertain light.

"It's one too many for me, Bonnie," he mused. "Forward until the danger becomes clearer."

Thus commanded, the mare moved forward once more, but this time much slower. Once or twice her feet seemed to stick fast, but Pawnee Brown did not notice this. At last she came to a dead halt and would not go another step.

"The danger must be in the timber," thought the boomer. "Bonnie Bird wouldn't balk for nothing. I'll dismount and reconnoitre."

Springing to the ground, he drew his pistol and moved forward silently. Scarcely had he taken a dozen steps than he realized the cause of his mare's unwillingness to proceed further.

He was in a bed of quicksand.

Anybody who knows what a bed of quicksand is knows how dangerous it is—dangerous to both man and beast. Just as the scout made his discovery he sank up to his knees in the mass.

"By Jove! I must get back out of this, and in double-quick order," he muttered, and tried to turn, to find himself sinking up to his waist.

Pawnee Brown was now fully alive to the grave peril of his situation.

He tried by all the strength at his command to pull himself to the firm ground from which he had started.

He could not budge a foot. True, he took one step, but it was only to sink in deeper than ever.

Several minutes of great anxiety passed. He had sunk very nearly up to his armpits.

Quarter of an hour more and he would be up to his head, and then——? Brave as he was, the great scout did not dare to think further. The idea of a death in the treacherous quicksand was truly horrible.

His friends would wonder what had become of him, but it was not likely that they would ever find his body.

And even faithful Bonnie Bird would be dumb, so far as telling the particulars of her master's disappearance was concerned.

The mare now stood upon the edge of the quicksands, fifteen feet off, whining anxiously. She knew as well as though she had been a human being that something was wrong.

Suddenly an inspiration came to Pawnee Brown.

"How foolish! Why didn't I think of that before?" he muttered.

At his belt had hung a lariat, placed there when the wagon train started, in case any of the animals should attempt to run off in the darkness.

The boomer could use a lariat as well as Clemmer or any of the cowboys. More than once, riding at full speed upon his mare, he had thrown the noose around any foot of a steer that was selected by those looking on.

He put his hand down to his waist and felt for the lariat. It was still there, and he brought it up and swung it over his head, to free it from the quicksand.

As has been stated, the belt of timber was not far away, the nearest tree being less than fifty feet from where he remained stuck.

Preparing the lariat, he threw the noose up and away from him. It circled through the air and fell over the nearest branch of the tree. Hauling it taut, Pawnee Brown tested it, to make sure it would not slip, and then began to haul himself up, as Rasco had done at the swamp hole.

It was slow work, and more than once he felt that the lariat would break, so great was the strain put upon it.

But it held, and a few minutes later Pawnee Brown found himself with somewhat cut hands, safe in the branches of the tree.

Winding up the lariat, he descended to the ground, and made a detour to where Bonnie Bird remained standing, and to where he had cast his pistol.

The mare and weapon secured, he continued on his way, but made certain to wander into no more quicksand spots.

"It was too narrow an escape for comfort," was the way in which Pawnee Brown expressed himself, when he told the story later.

An hour after found him again among the boomers.

Mike Delaney was just coming in by the Allen trail. The Irishman was much crestfallen over his failure to find a better trail than that selected by the scout, and Rosy was giving it to him with a vengeance.

"Th' nixt toime ye go forward it will be undher Pawnee Brown's directions, Moike Delaney!" she cried. "It's not yerself thot is as woise as Moses in the wilderness, moind thot!" And her clenched fist shook vigorously to emphasize her words. After that Delaney never strayed from the proper trail again.

All of the boomers but Jack Rasco were now on hand, and as hour after hour went by and Rasco did not turn up, Pawnee Brown grew anxious about the welfare of his right-hand man.

"Looking for the girl had brought him into trouble, more than likely," he thought, as he rode away from Honnewell, taking a due south course. "And what can have become of her?"

Pawnee Brown was on his way to the spot where he had left Dick. He had decided that as soon as he had found the lad, he would return to camp, and then the onward march of the boomers for Oklahoma should at once be begun.

On through the ravine where he had met Yellow Elk he dashed, Bonnie Bird feeling fresh after a short rest and her morning meal, for the sun was now creeping skyward. On through the brush, and he turned toward the open prairie.

"Halt! Throw up your hands!"

The unexpected command came from the thicket on the edge of the prairie. On the instant the boomer wheeled about. The sight which met his gaze caused his heart to sink within him. There, drawn up in line, was the full troop of cavalry sent out by the government to stop the boomers' entrance to the much-coveted territory.

Vorlange's spy work was responsible, and Pawnee Brown's carefully-laid plan had fallen through.



CHAPTER XXI.

DICK'S DISAGREEABLE DISCOVERY.

"Lost!"

Dick murmured the word over and over again, as he peered through the brush, first in one direction and then in another.

"I ought to have kept track of where I was going," he went on bitterly. "Of course, away out here one place is about as good as another for hiding, but how am I going to find the others, or, rather, how are they going to find me, when they come back?"

He pushed on for nearly a quarter of an hour; then, coming to a flat rock, threw himself down for reflection.

"Just my luck!" he muttered. "I'll have to have a string tied about my neck like a poodle dog. What a clown I was to go it blind! But Nellie's cry for help made me forget everything else. Poor girl! I do hope she is safe. If that redskin—gosh! what's that?"

The flat rock was backed up by a number of heavy bushes. From these bushes had come a peculiar noise, half grunt, half yawn! Dick leaped to his feet, the bushes parted and there appeared the savage face of Yellow Elk!

Dick knew the Indian by that plume of which he had heard so much. He rightfully guessed that Yellow Elk had been taking a nap behind the bushes. He had been shot in the thigh, and this, coupled with the fact that he had had no sleep for two nights, had made him very weary.

As the Indian chief shoved his face into view he caught sight of Dick and uttered a slight huh! Up came the boy's weapon, but on the instant Yellow Elk disappeared.

For the moment Dick was too paralyzed to move. Like a flash he realized that Yellow Elk had the better of him, for the Indian was behind shelter, while he stood in a clearing.

"White boy stand still!" came in guttural tones from the redskin. "Don't dare move, or Indian shoot."

"What do you want of me?" asked Dick.

"White boy all alone?"

"What business is that of yours?"

At this Yellow Elk muttered a grunt. Then from out of the bushes Dick saw thrust the shining barrel of a horse pistol.

"White boy throw down little shooter," commanded the redskin. By little shooter he meant Dick's pistol.

There was no help for it, and the youth did as requested.

"White boy got udder shooter?"

"No."

"Now say if white boy alone. Speak if want to save life."

"Yes, I am alone, Yellow Elk."

"Ha! you know Yellow Elk?" cried the Indian in surprise.

"I've heard of you."

"What white boy do here?"

"I am lost."

"Lost. Huh!" and a look of disgust crossed the Indian chiefs face. The idea of a human being losing his way was something he could not understand. During his life he had covered thousands of miles of prairie and forest lands and had never yet lost himself. Such is the training and instinct of a true American aboriginal.

While speaking Yellow Elk had leaped through the brush, and now he came up and peered into Dick's face. Instantly his eyes filled with anger.

"I know white boy; he friend to Pawnee Brown. Indian see him at big moving."—meaning the camp of the boomers. He had not noticed Dick in the fight at the cave.

"Yes, Pawnee Brown is my friend," answered Dick. "Where is he now?" he added, to throw the Indian off the series of questions he was propounding.

"Pawnee Brown dead!" muttered Yellow Elk simply. "White boy come with me."

"With you!" ejaculated Dick, a chill creeping up to his heart.

"Yes; come now. No wait, or Yellow Elk shoot!" and again the horse pistol was raised.

The tone was so ugly that Dick felt it would be useless to hang back. Yellow Elk pointed with his arm in the direction he wished the lad to proceed, and away they went, the Indian but a pace behind, and keeping his pistol where it would be ready for use whenever required.

Dick never forgot that walk in the starlight, taken at about the same time that Pawnee Brown was floundering in the quicksand. A mile or more was covered, over prairies, through a wood and across several small streams, for the fertile Indian Territory abounds in water courses. Yellow Elk stuck to him like a shadow, and the pistol was continually in evidence. Yellow Elk had likewise appropriated Dick's weapon, the one cast to the ground.

Presently a clearing was gained where stood a cabin built of logs. All about the place was deserted. Going up to the cabin the Indian opened the door and lit a match.

"White boy go inside and we have talk," said Yellow Elk, when there came a noise from the woods beyond. At once Yellow Elk pushed Dick into the cabin and bolted the door from the outside.

"White boy keep quiet or Yellow Elk come in and kill!" he hissed, in a low but distinct tone. "No make a sound till Indian open door again."

The Indian's words were so terrifying that Dick stood still for several minutes exactly where he had been thrust. All was pitch dark around him. He listened, but not a sound reached his ears.

"Where in the world is this adventure going to end?" was the thought which coursed through his mind.

He wondered what had alarmed Yellow Elk. Was it the approach of some white friend? Fervidly he prayed it might be.

A low, half-suppressed cough from somewhere close at hand caught his ear and made him start.

"Who is there?" he asked aloud.

"Oh, Dick Arbuckle, is that you?" came in an eager voice.

"Nellie Winthrop! Is it possible? Where are you?"

"In the next room."

"Can't you come out?"

"No; I'm locked in."

"Gosh, you don't say!" Forgetting his former fear, Dick hurried across the cabin floor to the door of the inner apartment. Feeling around in the dark he found a hasp and staple and pulled out the plug which fastened the barrier. In another instant boy and girl plumped into each other's arms in the darkness. Even in that moment of peril Dick could not resist giving Nellie a little squeeze, which she did not resent.

"But how came you here?" asked the youth quickly.

"I was captured by a government spy, who wants to get from me some secret of the boomers. He is a bad-looking man, and I was awfully afraid of him."

"Yellow Elk brought me here. We are prisoners together. Some noise in the woods just took Yellow Elk off."

"The man has been gone less than five minutes. Perhaps they are in league with each other," suggested Nellie.

"Perhaps, or they may be enemies. But never mind how that stands. We must get away, Nellie, and that before Yellow Elk comes back."

"Heaven knows, I am willing!" gasped the trembling girl. "I want no more of Yellow Elk."

"The window is nailed up," went on Dick, after an examination. "And the Indian fastened that door from the outside. I wonder if I can't get out by way of the roof?" He lit a match and gazed upward. "There is an opening. Here goes!"

In another instant he was climbing up beside the fireplace, to where a scuttle led to the sloping roof. He was soon without, and Nellie heard him drop to the ground. Then the outer door was thrown back.

"Quick! The Indian is coming back, and there is somebody with him!" whispered Dick, and, taking hold of Nellie's hand, he led her away as fast as possible. Their course was from the rear of the cabin and across a broad but shallow stream.

"We'll go down the stream a bit before we land," said Dick, as they were on the point of stepping out of the water. "That may serve to throw Yellow Elk off the trail."

"Yes, yes, but do hurry!" answered the girl. "If Yellow Elk gets hold of me again I'll die!" The fear of getting into the clutches of the red man was so great she trembled from head to foot and would have gone down had not Dick's strong arm supported her.

It was wonderful how strong the youth felt, now that he had somebody besides himself to protect. It is said that nature fits the back to the burden, and it must have been so in this case. For himself, he might have feared to face Yellow Elk single-handed; defending Nellie he would, if called upon, have faced a dozen redskins.

On and on they went, as silently as possible. The trees overhung the brook from both sides, making it pitch dark beneath.

A distance of fifty yards had been covered, when they heard a loud exclamation of rage, followed by an Indian grunt.

"The white man and the Indian have met and both have discovered our flight," whispered Dick. "Come, we will leave the stream and take to yonder woods. Surely among those trees we can find some safe hiding place."

They turned in toward shore. As they were about to step to dry land Nellie's foot slipped on a round stone, making a loud splash. At the same time the girl gave a faint cry.

"My ankle—it's twisted!"

"Quick! let me carry you!" returned Dick, and, seeing the ankle must pain her not a little, he picked her up in his arms and dove in among the trees.

They were not a moment too soon, for the ready ears of Yellow Elk had heard the splash and the cry, and now he came bounding in the direction, with Louis Vorlange at his heels.



CHAPTER XXII.

DICK HITS HIS MARK.

"They are coming closer, Dick! What shall we do?"

It was Nellie Winthrop who asked the question. Boy and girl had entered the woods a distance of fifty feet from the bank of the brook, and both rested where several large rocks and some overhanging bushes afforded a convenient hiding place.

"Keep quiet, Nellie," he said in a murmur, with his lips close to her shell-like ears. And he gripped her arm to show her that he would stand by her no matter what danger might befall them.

It would have been foolhardy to say more, for Yellow Elk and Louis Vorlange were now within hearing distance, and the ears of the Indian chief were more than ever on the alert. The government spy had lighted a torch, which he swung low to the brook bank, while Yellow Elk made an examination of the ground.

"Here footmarks!" grunted the redskin, a minute later, and pointed them out. "They go this way—cannot be far off."

"Then after them," muttered Vorlange. "It was through your stupidity that the girl got away. Yellow Elk, I always put you down for being smarter than that."

"Yellow Elk smart enough!" growled the Indian chief.

"No, you're not. In some things you are like a block of wood," grumbled Vorlange. The escape of Nellie had put him out a good deal.

The manner of the government spy provoked the Indian. To be called a block of wood is, to the red man, a direct insult. Yellow Elk straightened up.

"White man big fool!" he hissed. "Yellow Elk not make chase for him," and he folded his arms.

"You won't go after the boy and the girl?" queried Vorlange.

"No—white man hunt for himself if he want to catch the little woman again."

And having thus delivered himself, Yellow Elk sat down by the brook and refused to budge another step.

The Indian's objections to continuing the search were more numerous than appeared on the surface. The so-called insult, bad as it was, was merely an excuse to hide other motives. Yellow Elk had known Vorlange for years and as the spy was naturally a mean fellow, the redskin hated him accordingly.

Another reason for refusing to go ahead was that Yellow Elk knew only too well that if Dick and Nellie were again taken, Vorlange would consider both his own captives, and Yellow Elk would be "counted out" of the entire proceedings. He could not go to the agency and claim any glory, for he had run away without permission, although he had told Vorlange he was away on a special mission connected with the soldiers.

And deeper than all was the thought that if he did not capture Nellie now, he might do so later on, when he had separated from the spy. Ever since he had first seen the beautiful girl he had been covetous of making her his squaw. Indian fashion, he felt he could compel Nellie to choose him, even if he had to whip her into making the choice.

"You won't go on with the search?" cried Vorlange, in a rage.

"No," was the short answer.

"I say you shall! See here, Yellow Elk, do you want to be shot?"

"Yellow Elk not afraid of Vorlange—Vorlange know dat. Yellow Elk go back to cabin to see if girl or boy leave anything behind."

Then he got up, waded across the brook again and disappeared among the trees surrounding the log cabin.

Louis Vorlange muttered a good many things in a very angry tone. Then, torch in hand, he started up the brook bank to follow the trail alone.