When he arrived on the scene he heard the curious story the five warriors had to tell. A dwelling at last had been found in which the occupants were not fully prepared, or rather, were so insignificant in strength that no company of Sioux, however small, could consent to a repulse.

But there stood the cabin defying them. Red Feather had forced his way partly through the window and then was caught so fast that, but for the mercy of the sturdy youth within, he would have been killed without being able to use a finger to defend himself.

Among the whole party who heard the remarkable narrative, there was not one who would have thought of keeping a promise made under such circumstances as was that of the chief. No pledge could have been more solemn, and yet those are the very ones that are first repudiated by the red man.

To Tall Bear and his band the action of Red Feather in descending the chimney was natural. The bitterest enemy of the chieftain never questioned his courage, and, knowing how chagrined he must feel over his mishap, they could understand the desperate feeling that prompted the deed, the like of which was seldom if ever known before.

There was little said about Red Feather's wish to keep his agreement with Melville, for the reason I have already hinted—his proposal to do so was not earnest enough to mislead them.

But to the Sioux outside it looked very much as if the descent of the chimney by the chief had marked the end of his career. Among all the warriors there was not one who believed the truth—that he had been changed from the fiercest enemy into the most beloved friend of the boy and girl.

The tantalizing shout of Melville from the window was proof to the warriors that Red Feather had been slain by the boy, though, as I have said, no report of a gun was heard from within the building.

The chieftain's course, after proving himself a friend of the brother and sister, showed his desire to keep his presence in the house unsuspected by his own people. He took care that no glimpse of him was caught through the windows, and he refrained from firing when he had any number of chances to bring down an Indian.

Doubtless there were several reasons for this forbearance. Such a shot would be credited to Melville, and might excite the Sioux to an attack too furious to be resisted. At the same time, it is hardly to be supposed that Red Feather's feelings had so changed, because of his wish to save Dot and her brother, that he was ready to turn about and begin shooting at the very ones whom he had led on this raid.

It cannot be said that Tall Bear grieved any more over the loss of his rival leader than did most of the warriors. He prudently uttered some words of sympathy, but they hardly deceived those who heard them. They agreed with him, however, in declaring that his fall must be avenged, and that the boy who had caused his death, as well as his little sister, must suffer torture-punishment for the deed.

Several circuits around the building proved that it could hardly be carried by the most determined assault in their power. All the windows were too narrow to be used as a means of entrance, even if any one was brave enough to repeat the disastrous experiment of the other chief. The single door had already resisted the strongest shock they could give it, and no weak point was visible.

True, the path used by Red Feather when he finally succeeded in gaining the interior was open to the rest; but it is no reflection on their courage to say that among the whole party there was not one willing to head the procession down the chimney, even though but a solitary boy and a single rifle stood in the way.

Clearly there was one means at the command of Tall Bear and his Sioux which was not only terrible, but effective. They could set fire to the building and reduce it to ashes.

The lookout on the hill reported the horizon clear in every direction; and, since his wide sweep of vision extended toward every point of the compass, he was able to discover the approach of hostile horsemen a good while before they could reach the spot. He knew that if help came it would be from the northward, where Barwell lay, whither Mr. Clarendon and his wife had hurried on the first alarm. The prairie for a couple of miles was under a scrutiny that would let nothing escape.

The circumstances were so favorable that Tall Bear and his party decided to indulge in a feast. Enough poultry were wandering about the premises to afford a fine meal for a larger band than he had with him, and it took only a short time to wring the necks of more than a score of ducks and chickens.

The Sioux gathered to the westward of the barn and ate like so many wild animals until all were satisfied. The meal finished, they gave their attention to the serious business before them. Had the incidents I am relating taken place half a century ago, the red men would have been obliged to resort to the old-fashioned flint and steel with which our forefathers used to start a fire; but they were abreast of these modern times to that extent that nearly every one carried more or less lucifer-matches.

The favoring wind led to the barn being fired, under the belief that the flames would quickly communicate with the house but a short distance off; but, as you have learned, Providence favored the threatened ones to that extent that the breeze changed its course, and for a time Dot and Melville were saved.



Tall Bear and the Sioux waited till, to their disappointment and surprise, they saw the barn sink into blazing ruins and leave the house intact.

The next proceeding was to gather what embers they could and pile them against the dwelling, where they speedily burst into flames. It now looked certain that the structure was doomed; but the heavy logs, although dry on the outside, were damp within. It takes such timber a long time to part with its natural moisture, and, fortunately for our friends, a driving rain-storm less than a week previous had so soaked the wood that only an intense and long-continued heat could set it aflame. The logs were charred and scorched, and more than once appeared to be on the point of breaking into a roaring blaze; but the brands piled against the end of the house finally sank down to embers and ashes, and though considerable smoke arose, the house stood really as firm and as strong as at the first.

This was a keener disappointment than Tall Bear had yet met, for it looked as though the most potent if not the only means at his command was powerless to bring the boy to terms.

The chieftain himself examined the logs which had been subjected to the fire. He dug his hunting-knife into them, and soon discovered why they resisted the fire so effectually. Then he tested other parts of the house in the same manner and with the same result.

For the first time since his arrival on the spot he was forced to see the probability of another failure. His career from the hour he bounded upon his pony and entered so eagerly on the raid had been a continual disappointment. He was angered and resentful toward the supposed dead Red Feather, because he allowed himself to be baffled at the beginning by a solitary boy.

Tall Bear's pride was stirred, and he was unwilling to confess himself beaten after openly blaming his predecessor for failing to capture the place with less than one-third of his force.

But there seemed to be no help for it, unless he should persevere with the fire until the logs of the house were forced into combustion. They must yield in time, if the effort was kept up; and he was on the point of renewing the attempt on a larger scale than before when his attention was drawn to the sentinel on the hill, who uttered the startling cry that horsemen were in sight to the northward.



The chief and the warriors who were not already on the spot hurried thither to learn what it meant.

As I have explained elsewhere, this discovery did not take place until near nightfall, when darkness was beginning to render surrounding objects indistinct. The long delay in the arrival of help for the children of the pioneer led Tall Bear to believe it was not likely to come before morning; but once more it looked as if Providence was about to interfere to bring his wicked schemes to naught.

The gloom overspreading stream and prairie prevented the Sioux from seeing the horsemen clearly enough to identify them. The forms were so shadowy and vague that nothing more could be learned than that there were about a dozen men mounted on horses, and riding toward the cabin on a slow walk, as if not without some misgiving.

It was certain that while the sentinel on the hill commanded an unusually wide sweep of vision, he himself was conspicuous, and the others had been as quick to discover him as he was to detect them. Both parties, therefore, were aware of the presence of the other, and neither was likely to make a mistake at this critical juncture.

But neither Tall Bear nor any of his warriors could tell of a surety whether the approaching horsemen were white or red men. The Sioux grouped around the house were not the only ones by any means that were engaged on this memorable raid in Southern Minnesota, and it was not impossible that a party of friends were in sight.

It was somewhat curious that the majority of the Sioux believed a party of their own people at hand. Tall Bear himself was inclined to think the same; but to guard against any fatal mistake, he directed his warriors to ride down the hill on the east, so as to interpose between them and the strangers, who could now be barely distinguished.

Two other Sioux were to wait until the horsemen came near enough to settle the question, when they would make it known by signal, after which the course of the band would be open. If the new-comers proved to be enemies, a sharp fight was likely to follow, in which serious damage was certain to be inflicted on both sides.

The directions of the leader were promptly followed, the warriors galloping off and quickly disappearing in the direction of the upper trail, along which Melville and Dot had ridden on their way from the settlement.



While they were thus engaged, Tall Bear cantered to the front of the cabin and leaped to the ground. He had determined to attempt a trick.

Striking his fist against the door, he called out—

"More Sioux comin'—open door quick—Tall Bear won't hurt—don't wait."

He hoped the actions of himself and warriors had made known the former fact before he announced it in words. He counted upon a panic that would show the lad his situation was hopeless, and induce him to surrender while there was hope of mercy.

There was no reply to his summons, and he raised his fist to strike the door again, when he discovered the latch-string on the outside. With no suspicion of what it meant, he gave it a twitch.

To his amazement, the door swung inward of its own weight, and, before he could check himself, he had to take a step within to escape falling.

With a vague suspicion of the truth, he called to the lad again, and groped about the lower room.

He quickly discovered that it was empty, and then, with little personal fear, he hurried up the stairs.

Two minutes were enough to make clear the truth.

He was the only living person in the cabin!



CHAPTER NINE

NAT TRUMBULL AND HIS MEN—OUT IN THE NIGHT

The American Indian rarely shows any emotion that may be stirring his heart. I am sure, however, that if one could have had a look at the face of Tall Bear when he made the discovery that neither the brother nor sister was in the cabin he would have seen a picture of as blank amazement as ever held a person speechless.

This was not caused so much by what the children had done as by the course of the Sioux themselves, for nothing was plainer to the chieftain than the manner in which Melville and Dot had escaped.

They had been on the alert, and when the warriors hastened to the top of the hill Melville Clarendon was bright enough to seize the opportunity thus given. He had quietly stepped out of the front door, where, in the gloom and the absorbing interest of the red men in another direction, neither he nor the little girl attracted notice. The two were doubtless making all haste from the endangered spot.

But the chieftain was astounded over another discovery: in order to make his search absolutely thorough he had caught up a smouldering brand, quickly fanned it into a flame, and then explored the upper and lower storys. Not a nook or corner was left unvisited, and a hiding cat would have been brought to light.

That which almost knocked Tall Bear breathless was the fact that he found nothing of the remains of Red Feather, who had entered the chimney before the eyes of five of his own warriors.



The inference was certain: Red Feather had not been killed, but had gone out of the front door just as the children had done.

Tall Bear was still far from suspecting the whole truth, though, had he been left with nothing else on his mind for a short time only, he must have divined, or at least suspected, what actually took place.

But a party of horsemen were approaching, and must already be close at hand. They required attention, for if they should prove to be enemies, the chief would have his hands full. His position, with a lighted torch within the building, was not the most prudent he could take, and as he came outside he flung the light to the ground where it sputtered out in the darkness.

Tall Bear's pony was standing where he had left him, and vaulting lightly upon his back, he sent him on a gallop to the top of the hill, to learn something about the new-comers.

The main party of warriors were some distance off, awaiting the signal to know whether they were to fight or to join the parties whose identity was still in doubt. The couple whom Tall Bear had despatched to reconnoitre were still absent, so that he found himself alone on the elevation.

It is at such times that the American Indian displays a wonderful keenness of sight and hearing. The chief sat motionless, peering into the gloom and listening. None could know better than he that he had taken a most dangerous position.

If the horsemen, who could not be far off, were hostile, they would surround the hill whereon they last saw the Sioux, and unless Tall Bear kept his wits about him he was likely to be shut in on every hand.

But it would have been hard for the most skilful Indian scout to take him unawares. He was certain to see and hear the approach of any one as soon as the latter could see or hear him, and the chieftain was not the one to fall asleep under such circumstances.

Darting his penetrating glances here, there, and everywhere, he suddenly fixed them upon a point directly ahead. Something was vaguely assuming form in the gloom, and a minute later he observed a man walking toward him.

Tall Bear leaned forward over the neck of his pony, that he might not lose the advantage of an inch of space. The stranger was advancing without any more noise than if he was a shadow, and he was alone, or, if he had any companions, they were so far behind when he was in full view as to be invisible.

The man on foot came to a halt while still too far off to be more than faintly visible, and emitted a low tremulous whistle. Tall Bear promptly answered in the same manner, and then the other ran forward to his side. He was one of the two scouts the chief had sent out, and he brought important tidings.

The party of horsemen which caused the Sioux such concern were white men—every one—under the leadership of the famous frontier scout Nat Trumbull. The warrior had ventured near enough to the company to recognize his voice when he gave the order for his men to move around to the south and approach the house from that direction.

Trumbull was a veteran who had done good service during the lurid summer of 1862, when the Sioux desolated a large portion of the Minnesota frontier, and Tall Bear feared him more than any white man living. He knew that if Trumbull and his rangers got a chance at the Sioux they would force matters without mercy. No sooner, therefore, did the Sioux scout tell what he had learned than Tall Bear made up his mind that the best place for him and his warriors was somewhere else. When he asked after the other scout who accompanied the one that returned, the chieftain was told that he had ventured so near the white men that he narrowly escaped capture, and was forced to dodge off in another direction.

That was enough. Tall Bear wheeled his pony like a flash, and galloped toward the point where he knew his warriors were awaiting the news with as much anxiety as his own.

Such tidings travel fast, and within five minutes after the return of the scout with his message Tall Bear and his warriors were riding as if for life from the neighborhood.

It may as well be explained how it was that the relief which Melville Clarendon expected hours before was so delayed that, but for an unexpected occurrence, it would have arrived too late.

You have learned that Mr. Clarendon and his wife left their home early that morning and hurried northward over the ten miles between them and Barwell.

All went well until they had passed half the distance, when the sudden appearance of three mounted Indians showed that they were not likely to get through without trouble. The settler at once came to a halt and prepared to make the best defence possible. The animals were gathered near the wagon, where Mr. Clarendon made his wife crouch down to escape the flying bullets, and, loaded gun in hand, he waited the attack that was sure to come.

A skilful marksman in the situation of Mr. Clarendon generally considers himself the equal of three mounted men on the open plain, and the conduct of the warriors showed that they held the settler in respect. Keeping beyond easy range, they circled about the wagon and its inmates as if looking for an opening, and finally all three brought their guns to their shoulders and let fly.

The volley killed one of the horses, which dropped dead as he stood near the wagon.

The settler instantly returned the shot, and—rather curiously—though the distance was considerable, he brought down the pony of the nearest Indian, which made such a frenzied leap that his rider was thrown. Mr. Clarendon at first thought it was he who had been struck; but he quickly sprang to his feet and vaulted upon another pony behind one of his comrades.

The Sioux continued circling around the settler at a still greater distance, and sent in another volley, which did no harm. At last they concluded the risk of a charge and attack too great, and drew off, finally disappearing in the distance.



Mr. Clarendon waited an hour or more, expecting them to return, but they did not, and he resumed his journey to the settlement.

Having but a single horse, he was obliged to leave part of his load behind, and such slow progress was made in his crippled condition that the day was well gone before he reached Barwell.

There he was startled to learn that his children had started homeward early in the day, and were still absent. He set about organizing a rescue party at once. Fortunately, Nat Trumbull and several of his rangers were present, and they eagerly gave their help. Within half an hour after the father received the alarming tidings Trumbull was cantering southward with a dozen tried men and true, and among them was Archibald Clarendon himself.

Although the escape of the three parties from the beleaguered cabin may strike you as wonderful, yet, after all, there was nothing very remarkable in it.

Red Feather would have forgotten his lifelong training, had he failed to see and take instant advantage of the providential diversion when the Sioux, in the gathering darkness, made all haste to the top of the hill to learn about the horsemen approaching from the north.

Had the Sioux suspected that the brain of one of their shrewdest chiefs was helping the boy and girl, they would have been far more vigilant; but, as it was, they must have believed that nothing could draw the lad outside of his shelter until the appearance of his friends.

Red Feather was standing as before at one of the upper windows when the stampede took place to the crest of the hill. He read its meaning, and saw his golden opportunity.

"Now we go," he said in an undertone; "me carry pappoose (child)—you come 'long—put blanket round—den look like Indian."

There was another reason for using the blanket; the air was cold enough to require it.

Melville was quick to catch the idea, and, whipping a quilt from the bed, he gathered it about his shoulders, so that it came almost to his crown. His straw hat would have been too conspicuous, and he held that in front of his breast, under the blanket, to be put in its proper place again when it should become safe to do so.

"I'm ready," he said, standing erect, and looking at Red Feather as well as he could in the gloom.

"Me too."

The chief had lifted Dot in his arms, and he covered her with his thick blanket, doing so with such skill that hardly any one would have suspected the nature of the precious burden he carried next to his heart.

Not a minute was lost. Red Feather passed down the steps, paused in front of the door, and waited for Melville to unfasten it. The youth donned his hat, flung aside his blanket, and set his gun down to give his arms play. The heavy bar was lifted from its place, and then, in obedience to an odd whim, he thrust the end of the leathern string through the orifice above the latch.

He gathered his blanket about his shoulders and head as before, doffing his hat and returning it to its hiding-place, and paused for the chieftain to precede him.

Red Feather stood a minute on the threshold, peering out in the darkness. Everything looked favorable, and he stepped forward. Melville was directly behind him, and softly closed the door as he left the cabin.

The Sioux, instead of walking straight away from the building, moved stealthily along the front, passed around the corner, and started southward. By this means he interposed the cabin between himself and the party on the hill.



The youth was almost on his heels. His heart beat fast, and he was eager to break into a run that would quickly increase the distance between him and the war-party. He was about to suggest that they should hasten, when, to his surprise, he perceived that his friend was moving so much faster than he that he threatened to leave him out of sight altogether. Red Feather had struck a peculiar gait. It looked as if he was walking, but his pace was a loping trot, in which the feet were lifted only slightly from the ground. The movement was as smooth as that of a pacing horse, and he adopted it in order to save Dot from jolting.

The Sioux, on emerging from the building, had glanced sharply about him, in the hope of catching sight of his own pony, or one belonging to a warrior; but there was none convenient, and he dared not wait.

"Saladin must be hovering somewhere in the neighborhood," thought his young owner, "and it would be mighty fine if I could run against him, but it doesn't look as if there is much chance."

Red Feather continued his loping gait for two or three hundred yards, when he once more dropped to a walk; but his steps were so lengthy and rapid that the lad had to trot most of the time to hold his own.

Melville fancied his leader was changing his course, but he could only guess its direction. Looking back, nothing was visible of the cabin left a few minutes before. Everything was dark, the country being an undulating prairie. Mr. Clarendon used no fences, and the ground travelled by the fugitives had not been broken.

It seemed to the youth that the most natural thing for Red Feather to do was to make directly for the settlement, ten miles to the northward. It was a long tramp, but the two were capable of doing much more without special fatigue.

The chieftain did not speak as he hurried forward; and the boy asked him no questions, content to wait until he chose to tell his plans. His pace grew more moderate, and soon became easy for Melville to keep his place beside him.

It need not be said that both made good use of their eyes and ears. Although beyond sight of the house, it was too soon to think themselves safe. If a collision took place between Tall Bear and the new-comers, some of the Indians were likely to be skurrying backwards and forwards on their ponies, and it was probable they would come upon the fugitives.

Whenever Red Feather should meet his fellows there would be a sensation, but he was not the warrior to shrink the test, though he wished it to be deferred until the brother and sister were beyond the resentment of every one of his tribe.



CHAPTER TEN

AN OLD FRIEND—SEPARATED

Suddenly Red Feather stopped. Melville did the same, wondering what the cause could be.

The youth stood so near that he saw the chief was looking to the right, as though he had heard a suspicious sound or saw something in that direction. The lad gave close attention, since he could detect nothing.

The Indian resumed his walk more slowly than before, but did not utter a word. His glances, however, to one side showed he was not free from misgiving, and by-and-by he stopped walking and listened intently as before.

"What is it?" asked Melville, giving way to his curiosity.

"Me hear something," was the reply, the Indian going still slower.

"I can't detect anything," said the lad, as though the fact ought to lighten the fears of the other.

Red Feather now tenderly placed Dot on her feet. The little one was half asleep, and rubbed her eyes after the manner of children when disturbed.

A whispered word from her brother kept her quiet, and, kneeling down, Red Feather pressed his ear to the ground, holding it there for a full minute. Then he raised his head a few inches, looked off into the darkness, placed the side of his face against the ground for a few seconds more, after which he rose to his feet.

Instead of explaining, he turned to Melville.

"You see Red Feather do—you do same as him."

Melville promptly obeyed, assuming the same posture that his friend had taken. Closing his eyes, so as to shut out everything that might distract his senses, he gave all his efforts to that of hearing.

Yes, he did hear something—just the faintest irregular beating on the ground—so faint indeed that he would not have believed it anything except for what the Sioux had said.

"Hear nuffin?" asked the other, as the boy came to his feet.

"Yes, I think I did hear a faint noise."

"What him be?"

"That's more than I can tell, Red Feather."

"Hoss—hear hoss walking—dat what hear."

"Is that the fact?" asked Melville, somewhat startled, peering toward the same point of the compass at which the chief had gazed though the lad had no other idea of the right course.

"Hoss—he come dis way."

"If that is so there is likely to be someone on him, and I don't think it is well for us to meet him."

To this wise remark Red Feather gave no answer, but continued peering in the same direction as before.

"If there is one horseman there is likely to be more——"

Melville cut short his own words, and whistled cautiously, checking that with equal suddenness, through fear of offending his friend.

But the chief showed no displeasure, and, before anything could be said, the form of a riderless horse came out of the gloom and trotted forward with a faint neigh of pleasure.

"Saladin, my own Saladin!" exclaimed the delighted youth, flinging his arms around the outstretched neck, and actually touching his lips to the silken nose of the noble steed.

"Saladin, old fellow, I'm proud of you," said Melville; "the Sioux did their best to steal you away from us, but you were too smart for them. One was cruel enough to shoot at you, but it don't look as if he did any damage."

The youth could not resist the temptation to place his foot in the stirrup, and leap into the saddle, where he was "at home."

"Now, Red Feather," he added, "things are beginning to look up; I can relieve you of carrying Dot; the truth is that after we cross the stream I shall feel safe. Under heaven, we owe everything to you; but you need go no farther with us."

"Ain't safe," said the chieftain sententiously; "Injins all round—Red Feather go all way home wid pappoose."

"That is very kind, but I can relieve you of your burden."

"Me carry pappoose," replied the Sioux, moving toward the little one.

"Dot," said her brother, "which would you rather do—ride on Saladin with me or let Red Feather carry you?"



"It's a good deal nicer to have him carry me; take me, Red Feather," she added, reaching out her arms.

Melville was glad to hear this answer, for he knew it would touch the chieftain, whose heart had become wrapped up in the sweet little one.

Before he could lift her, however, he paused, and, saying "Wait," again knelt down with his ear to the ground.

The result was satisfactory, and, remarking that he heard nothing more, he stood upon his feet, stooped over, and lifted the little one to her old place. Then the flight was taken up as before.

Melville held Saladin back, so as to follow the leader, who reached the side of the stream a few minutes later. Objects were indistinct, but the youth was so familiar with the spot that he recognized it as the Upper Crossing. When the lad would have lost himself the Sioux had gone as unerringly to the spot as though the sun were shining overhead to guide him.

"Now," said Melville, as they waited a minute or two on the brink, "there is no need for you to wade across, and wet your leggings to the knees; it can be easily fixed."

"Oogh! heap big load for hoss—carry all."

The lad laughed.

"That isn't what I mean; the pony is strong enough to bear us, but it isn't necessary; I'll ride him over, and then send him back after you."

This was a sensible course, for, though an Indian cares little for the inconvenience of wading through water of considerable depth, yet he will not do so when there in any practicable means of avoiding it.

"You must be careful," added Melville, as he was about to ride into the current, "for there are some deep places which the horse will have to skirt closely. If he steps into one, he will go over his depth, and that will make it bad for you and Dot; I think I had better carry her over with me."

"Oogh! Red Feather know holes, 'cause he fall in 'em—mebbe you fall in wid pappoose—how den, eh?"

"All right," replied the youth with a smile, as he gave the word to Saladin, who began wading with the same snuffing and care that his kind always show when entering a body of water.

His rider was wise enough to decide that the safest course was to leave everything to him, for he had travelled that way often enough to be familiar with its dangers.

He narrowly missed plunging into a hole near the other bank, but he saved himself, and finally emerged on the farther shore with his rider dry-shod.

"Now, old fellow," said Melville, affectionately patting his head, "go back and bring over Red Feather and Dot. Try not to come as near making a slip as you did with me."



The pony showed his comprehension of the request by stepping at once in the stream and making his way toward the other shore.

Long before the little party reached the stream just crossed by Melville night had fully come. The moon did not rise until late in the evening, and the darkness was such that, after parting with Saladin, he saw him vanish when he was no more than half-way across the creek. Of course, therefore, Red Feather and Dot were out of sight altogether.

Melville sat down on the sloping bank, with his rifle across his knees, to await the coming of his friend. In the stillness, the slightest sound could be heard a long way. The plashing of the pony's feet as he carefully felt his way through the water was so plain that it was easy to tell every step he took.

The youth was looking idly off in the gloom when he observed a rapidly growing light toward the south-east, which you will bear in mind was on the other side of the stream. He watched it for a minute or two, when the cause became apparent.

A couple of miles east of the Clarendon home was that of the nearest neighbor. He was without any family, his only companion being a hired man. They had received warning of the impending danger in time to escape, but being well mounted and armed, took a different direction from that leading toward Barwell, whither Mr. Clarendon and his wife hastened.

They were gone, but their property remained. The buildings were more extensive than those of Mr. Clarendon, and they had been fired by the Sioux. They created a huge glare which lit up the horizon in every direction.

"It must be," thought Melville, "that Tall Bear and his warriors have been scared away by the appearance of white men, and have touched off those buildings out of revenge. If Red Feather and I could have only known that friends were coming we could have stayed at home. I wonder they didn't try to fire that again, now that they can get inside and have so much better chance."

Melville watched the glare growing brighter and brighter, until it suddenly occurred to him that Red Feather was a long time in crossing the stream. The light from the conflagration brought the opposite shore into faint view, but failed to reveal the Sioux. While the youth was looking and wondering, however, he heard the splashing of water and observed Saladin making his way back.

But, instead of doing so at the regular ferry-place, he had gone some distance above, where the depth was greater. Even while staring at the pony, the animal sank down so low that it was plain he was swimming.

This of itself was curious, without the additional fact that there was no one upon his back; he was returning, as may be said, empty handed.

As you may well believe, Melville was startled and alarmed; something unusual must have happened on the other shore. There could be no doubt that Saladin had gone entirely across, and now came back without the chief who expected to ride over the ford.

The lad rose and walked down to the edge of the water to meet his steed. The latter was obliged to swim only a short distance, when the depth became so shallow that his body rose above the surface, and he quickly stepped out on dry land.

"What can this mean?" muttered Melville examining the wetted saddle, bridle, and accoutrements; "were you sent back, Saladin, or did you come of your own accord? Ah, if you had the gift of speech!"

It seemed to the lad that he could discern something moving on the other side, but, with the help of the glare of the distant fire, he could not make it out.

He ventured to signal to Red Feather by means of the whistle with which he was accustomed to summon Saladin. The Sioux was sure to identify it if it reached his ears.

The signal was emitted with such care that it could not have been heard more than a hundred yards away, and the youth listened with a rapidly beating heart for the reply.

It came, but in a far different form than was expected or desired. The sounds showed that other animals had entered the water and were approaching the opposite bank. At this juncture, too, the glare from the burning buildings increased to that extent that the other shore came out more distinctly than ever.

To his dismay Melville observed that the bank was lined with mounted Indians, three of whom had already ridden into the stream and were urging their ponies across. They were doing this, too, with a skill which left no doubt that they knew all about the holes into which one was likely to plunge.

Where these Sioux—as they undoubtedly were—could have come from with such abruptness was more than the startled lad could tell, though he naturally supposed they belonged to the party that had fired the burning buildings. Whether they were members of Tall Bear's band or an independent body could not be told just then, and Melville had no time or inclination to puzzle himself over the question.

It was enough to know that he and his pony were in imminent danger, and that not a second was to be lost in leaving the spot.

He was in the saddle in a twinkling, and turned the head of Saladin to the north.

"A good deal depends on you," he said, patting the neck of the noble animal; "we have a rugged path to travel, and there isn't much chance to show them what you can do in the way of speed, but I know they can't beat you."



I told you in the earlier part of this story that the upper trail, as it was called, was much more rugged and difficult to traverse than the lower one, which fact accounted for its general abandonment by those who had occasion to cross the stream. Had the ground for some distance been open prairie, Saladin would have shown a clean pair of heels to his enemies, and speedily borne his master beyond danger; but within a hundred yards of the bank of the stream the surface became so broken that it was difficult for a horse to travel faster than a walk.

But our young friend did not hesitate to assume the risk, and Saladin instantly broke into a canter, which, to say the least, was the equal in speed of any pace his pursuers dare attempt. The difficulty, however, was that the latter were already so close that a volley from them could not fail to do damage. The fact that they had some distance yet to travel through the water, where their ponies could not be forced off a walk, was a vast help to Melville, who improved the brief space to that extent that he was almost out of sight when the horsemen forced their animals up the bank and struck into a gallop.

Melville rode a reckless gait, which proved to be the wisest thing he could do; for, though Saladin came near stumbling more than once, he did not fall, and drew so far away from his pursuers that he soon left them out of sight. Satisfying himself of this, the youth abruptly drew him to one side, forced him among some rocks and bushes, faced about, and held him motionless.

"I don't know what has happened to Red Feather and Dot," he said, "and it may be they don't need my help; but I shan't do anything that looks like deserting them—sh!"

At that moment, the hoofs of the pursuing horses fell on his ear in his hiding-place, and he knew the three Sioux were at hand.



CHAPTER ELEVEN

AT THE LOWER CROSSING—TALL BEAR'S LAST FAILURE

Nothing could have shown more strongly the confidence of Melville Clarendon in Saladin than the course he followed in trying to throw the pursuing Sioux off his track.

He had halted at a distance of less than fifty feet from the path, and, sitting erect on the back of the steed, he waited for the three Indians to ride past.

At such times a horse is quicker than its rider to discover the presence of other animals, and the temptation to make it known by a whinny or neigh has often upset all calculations and overthrown the plans of the fugitive or scout.

Melville knew the peril from this source, but he had little misgiving about Saladin. He softly patted his neck, and knew he understood the situation well enough to hold his peace; but how would it be with the other animals—would they betray their discovery of the motionless steed at the side of the trail? A faint neigh from them would be certain to give their cunning riders a clue to the truth; and, checking their own horses, they would leap to the ground, and be upon the youth before he could dash into cover.

You may understand, therefore, the anxiety of Melville when through the gloom he caught the dim outlines of the first horseman, as he came opposite, closely followed by the others.

The suspense was short. While the boy held his breath, the last of the three horsemen vanished in the gloom, and he was placed at the rear, with enemies on both sides of him.

The ruse of Melville had succeeded, and the question now to be answered was as to what use he should make of his opportunity, if such it should prove to be?

It would seem that nothing could be more reckless than for the youth, after eluding his three immediate pursuers, to return over the trail to the crossing, but only a moment's thought was necessary for him to decide to do that very thing.



From where he sat on his pony, screened by bushes and rocks, he observed that the light from the burning buildings to the south-east was fast diminishing. The fire had been rapid, and before long total darkness would rest on the stream and plain again. It would therefore be safe for him to approach the edge of the creek, provided none of the remaining Sioux had crossed over.

Waiting only long enough to make sure that the three Indians were beyond reach of the sound of Saladin's hoofs, he gently jerked the bit and spoke softly to him. The steed stepped forward with as much care as his rider could have shown, and soon stood in the path again.

Here Melville held him motionless a moment or two, while he peered around and listened. Nothing was seen or heard of the Indians, and, heading toward the stream, the horse advanced on a gentle walk.

Melville kept his pony at a walk for no other reason than to prevent any betrayal from the sound of his feet. The distance was slight, and soon he came to a halt on the very edge of the stream, while the rider, peering across, failed to catch the faintest outline of the horsemen that were in sight a short time before.

Nothing could have justified the risk of attempting to ride to the other bank; for if the Sioux were in the neighborhood they would not only discover the youth, but would have him at such disadvantage that escape would be out of the question.

The lad held no such purpose, but, turning his animal to the right, began making his way down stream, toward the Lower Crossing, near his own home. It was easy to do this by keeping close to the water, since the unevenness of the ground did not begin until a few yards or rods from the bank.

The darkness was such that Saladin was left to himself, Melville knowing he could give him no help by any attempt at guiding him. The sagacious beast thrust his nose forward, and, like an elephant, crossing the stream, seemed to feel every foot of the way.

Despite the extreme care, he had not taken a dozen steps when a rolling stone caused him to stumble, and the rider narrowly missed taking a header over his ears. Saladin quickly recovered himself, but at the moment of doing so the youth was startled by a whistle from the other shore, instantly answered by a similar call from the bank along which he was riding.

This proved that not only were the main party waiting, but the three Sioux that had started to pursue the young fugitive had returned.

But if the stumble of Saladin had revealed his whereabouts, Melville was still in great peril. Without waiting to assure himself on the point, he urged his pony to a brisk walk, never pausing until fully two hundred yards were placed behind him. Then, when he looked back and listened, he was convinced his fears were groundless, and it was a simple coincidence that the signals which startled him were emitted at the moment of the slight mishap to his horse.

So far as he could judge, he had a clear course now, and he allowed Saladin to advance as rapidly as he chose.

His chief distress was concerning Dot. The withdrawal of Red Feather was so sudden that some unusual cause must have been at the bottom. The lad could not help thinking the chieftain should have given him a hint of his course before the youth learned it at such a risk to himself.

He was not without fear that harm had befallen his beloved sister, but his confidence in Red Feather was perfect, and he knew that he would do his best to take care of her.

Convinced that the Sioux at the Upper Crossing were the ones that had fired the buildings to the south-east, and that they belonged to Tall Bear's band, it followed that something must have taken place to drive them from the siege of Melville's home.

It might be that, learning of the flight of the children, they had scattered to search for them. It would seem that they were small game for such a big effort, but the ill success that had marked Tall Bear's brief career as a raider may have made him glad of even a small degree of success. Besides, it might be that only a portion of his party was on the hunt.

But to Melville the most likely belief was the one formed some time before, to the effect that company whose appearance had caused such excitement were white men numerous and strong enough to send the Sioux skurrying away to avoid a fight with them.

It was this belief which caused Melville to seek the Lower Crossing, when there was much risk involved in the attempt.

"If father and a lot of his friends have scared off Tall Bear and his Sioux, they can't be far off——"

"Climb down thar, pard, mighty quick!"

It was a startling summons that thus broke in upon the reverie of Melville, but he quickly recovered from the shock, knowing by the voice that it was that of a friend.

He had reached the Lower Crossing, when a horseman that was awaiting him suddenly loomed in sight through the gloom, and hailed him with the rough command to dismount.

"I don't see why I should get off my horse when he isn't stolen," replied the youth with a laugh.

"Wal, to be sure, if it isn't young Clarendon! Hello, Archie, here's your younker (boy), sure as you live."

It was the famous scout Nat Trumbull who spoke these cheery words, and, before the youth knew it, it looked as if a dozen horsemen had sprung from the ground and surrounded him.

"We're looking for Injins," added Nat; "thar was plenty of 'em a while ago, but they've become powerful scarce all of a sudden."

"I've seen more than I wished," replied Melville, "but I guess, you've frightened them off——"

At this juncture the boy's father rode hurriedly forward through the group, and, leaning from his saddle, gratefully pressed the hand of his son, and anxiously asked about Dot.

The youth, as briefly as he could, told the story which is familiar to you. The amazement of the listeners was great, and to more than one it seemed impossible that the detested Red Feather should have proved himself a friend instead of the most cruel enemy of the children.

"Why, it's him that we war after more than any one else," said Nat Trumbull; "but if he's made a change like that, why I'll shake hands with him and call the account squar."

Mr. Clarendon's distress over the uncertainty about Dot was so great that the thoughts of all were turned toward her; and when he asked that an effort should be made to trace her and Red Feather, Nat and the rest gave their eager consent, and the start was made without a minute's unnecessary delay.

Nat Trumbull was disappointed because of his failure to locate Tall Bear and his band. The outbreak of the Sioux was so sudden that even those who were best acquainted with their ways did not believe it was so near, but when the truth became known the authorities saw the only right course to take.

There were many hundred Sioux within the boundaries of Minnesota at that time, and unless the revolt was suppressed at once and with a strong hand it would rapidly spread, with the most lamentable consequences. There was a hasty organization and gathering of forces to start after the raiders and bring them to terms before they should gain courage by any important successes.

It was the ardent desire of the rangers under Trumbull to force Red Feather and his band into a fight where there would be no getting away on either side. The scout meant to hit hard when he did strike.

This statement will make clear the course of the irregular cavalry—as they may be called—when they became aware that the Indians whom they were after were gathered around the home of Archibald Clarendon. That gentleman was eager for himself and friends to dash forward, but Nat reminded him that the presence of the Sioux and the fact that, although the barn was a mass of ashes and smoking ruins, his house stood intact were proofs that the raiders had been unable to burn down the cabin or secure his children.

Such being the case, Trumbull began manoeuvring with a view of getting matters in such a shape that a fight would be certain. There were several glasses among the rangers, and in the deepening darkness they gave important aid.

It was evident from the manner of the Sioux that they were not sure of the identity of the horsemen. Could they have used spy-glasses like the white men, they could not have failed to learn the truth.

Trumbull turned this uncertainty to his own advantage. He purposely held his men back to prevent the truth becoming known; but as the darkness increased he kept edging to the southward, spreading the horsemen out to an extent that would have proved costly had the Sioux been sagacious enough to take advantage of it.

Nat's force was too small to attempt to surround the Indians, and he was still hopeful of forcing them into a fight. He did not lose a minute, but worked farther and farther along, until all were far from that part of the horizon where first seen.



But while Nat Trumbull was vigorously pushing things, it became known that two of the Sioux were hovering near and watching every movement. That these fellows were wonderfully cunning and quick was proved by their escape when both were charged by the horsemen. Despite everything that could be done, these scouts made off, and of course carried their important news to their chief.

The flight of the Sioux scouts caused a change in the plans of Nat Trumbull. Knowing it was useless to try to surprise the dusky rogues, he brought his men together and rode rapidly toward the Clarendon cabin. He hoped to arrive before the raiders could get away, and to administer sharp punishment to them.

Trumbull approached the house and smoking ruins with care, for there was abundant chance for their enemies to hide themselves and give the white men a rattling volley before they could escape the peril. It required considerable time for the rangers to learn that none of their enemies were there, and then Mr. Clarendon himself discovered the door of his house open. Still uncertain of the truth, he and his friends waited some time before daring to venture within.

The conclusion of this examination was the natural one, that the Sioux had fled, taking the children with them. But, as it was clear they could not have gone far, Trumbull galloped with most of his men to the crossing, in the hope of coming upon the marauders there.

He had no more than fairly convinced himself that he was in error again when Melville Clarendon rode up on Saladin, his father making his appearance shortly after.

The light in the south-east had attracted the notice of the scouts some time before, and the story told by the youth led Trumbull to believe the main body was near the Upper Crossing, where doubtless they had made Red Feather prisoner.

Accordingly, the dozen horsemen set their faces in that direction and struck into a rapid gallop. The leader was hopeful that, if the slippery scamps were located, he could reach them. He believed his men were as well mounted as they, and, if only a fair chance were given, they would compel the others to fight.

Nat rode at the head, with Mr. Clarendon and Melville just behind him. The keen eyes of the ranger peered through the darkness into which he was plunging so swiftly, on the alert for the first sign of an enemy. As he drew near the Upper Crossing he slackened his pace slightly, those behind doing the same, with the exception of the settler and his son, who found themselves at the side of the leader.

"Helloa! there's one of 'em!" exclaimed Nat.

The three saw the figure of an Indian running over the ground with great swiftness. Knowing his danger, he flung aside his blankets, so that his flight was unimpeded, and his exhibition of speed excited the admiration of his pursuers.

"Let him alone," added Trumbull; "I don't want any one else to interfere—he belongs to me."

And then, to the astonishment of every one, the scout made a flying leap from the saddle, and bounded after the fugitive on foot.

It was an odd chivalrous feeling which led him to do this. Inasmuch as the warrior had no pony, Trumbull meant that the contest between them should be without any unfair advantage to either party.

The Sioux was running like a deer, but the white man beat him. Nat Trumbull is to-day one of the fleetest runners in the north-west, and no doubt he felt a natural wish to show this Indian, as well as his own friends, what he could do in that line.

It may be said that from the first the fugitive was doomed; for if Trumbull should prove unequal to the task of running him down, the cavalry would do it, and if his strangely absent comrades should rally to his help, they would be fiercely attacked in turn. Since the white man quickly proved his superiority, it must be admitted that the outlook for the fleeing warrior was discouraging from the beginning.

Steadily and rapidly Nat gained on the desperate fugitive, until, in less time than would be supposed, he was almost at his elbow.

"Surrender, pard!" called out the scout; "for you don't know how to run, and I've got you, dead sure."

Realizing that there was no escape by flight, the Sioux dropped his rifle, and, whipping out his hunting-knife while still fleeing at the highest bent of his speed, he stopped short, wheeled about, and struck viciously at his pursuer with the weapon.

But the veteran scout was expecting that very thing, and parrying the blow with admirable skill, he sent the knife spinning a dozen feet to one side. Dropping his own gun, Trumbull then dashed in and seized the warrior around the waist.

"It's you, Tall Bear, is it?" said he, recognizing his old antagonist; "we'll settle this again by a wrestling-match. If you can throw me, we'll let you go without a scratch; but if I fling you, then you're mine. Keep back boys, and may the best man win!"

It was a curious scene, but the contest could not have been fairer. Trumbull waited till his opponent had secured his best hold, for Tall Bear was as quick to identify his rival as the latter was to recognize him.

The scout waited till the chief said he was ready. Then, like a flash, he dropped to a low stooping posture, seized each leg of the other below the knee in a grip of iron, and straightening up with marvelous quickness and power sent Tall Bear sprawling like a frog through the air, and over his head.



Despite the remarkable agility of the Sioux, he could not save himself, but alighted on his crown with tremendous force.

Not the least amusing part of this contest was that, at the instant Tall Bear started on his aerial flight, he called out—

"Me surrender! Tall Bear good Injin—he lub white——"

The crash of his head against the solid ground checked his words, and left for ever uncertain what the chieftain meant to say. He quickly recovered from the shock, for possibly, it may be said, he was becoming accustomed to such rough treatment and could stand it better than at first.

In the course of a minute or two Tall Bear staggered uncertainly to his feet, and looking up in the faces of the horsemen who were on every side of him, was compelled to admit that he was their prisoner.

So it proved that the last essay of the chieftain who was on a little scout for himself was the greatest failure of them all, and in the end it was fortunate that such was the fact; for when the strong arm of the authorities was laid upon the raiders the chief had no trouble in proving that he had inflicted no serious harm to the settlers. True, he had destroyed some property, and tried hard to do greater damage; but, as I have said, he failed utterly.



CHAPTER TWELVE

CONCLUSION

But for his solicitude for Dot Clarendon, Red Feather never would have made the error he did, when waiting on the southern bank of the Upper Crossing for the return of the pony which was to carry them across to the waiting Melville on the other side.

The weather was still crisp and chilly, and, when he found himself alone, he began carefully gathering the blanket around the precious form, so, as to keep away all cold from her body. No mother could have handled her more gently. His left arm remained immovable, while his right fingered about her. He was quick to discover that she was in a sound slumber—a pleasant proof of the success of the grim warrior in the role of a soothing friend to the imperilled little one.

Softly raising a corner of the blanket, he looked down in the sweet face, which, though seen dimly, was as the face of an angel. Pure and holy emotions were stirred in that dark heart as never before that evening. He had parted his lips to utter something in his own language, when he was sharply reminded of his remissness by the clamp of horse's feet. Quickly replacing the blanket, he looked behind him, and saw outlined against the glare of the burning buildings the figures of six or eight horsemen, so close that it was useless for him to think of hiding or getting away.

Red Feather made no attempt to do either; for, like most of his people, he had a strong sense of dignity, which would have been disturbed by such action. His chief regret was that the horsemen had come upon him so suddenly that his action with the blanket must have betrayed, or at least raised a suspicion of, the truth. Had he but a minute's time, he would have gathered the covering about the form in such a way that in the darkness he might have kept secret the fact that he carried a small child in his arms.

His supposition was that these Indians were his own warriors; and a curious meeting must follow between them and the chief whom they thought dead, unless they had learned of his flight from the house, in which event a troublesome explanation must be made to them.

But the chief was pleased to observe that the men belonged to still another band, that had come from the south-east on their way to the Lower Crossing, in the hope of intercepting the settlers and their families fleeing in the direction of Barwell.

To use a common expression, Red Feather decided to "take the bull by the horns." He was well known and held in fear by all the warriors. He said he had captured a small child, stepping forward and parting the blanket enough for them to see her in his arms, and adding that he meant to take her home to his own wigwam as a present to his squaw. If the latter did not want her, he would put her out of the way, or hold her for ransom.

Had the new-comers possessed the courage, they might have asked Red Feather some troublesome questions, but they feared to rouse his anger.

He tried to keep their attention away from the other shore; but just then the glare from the burning buildings became so bright that he failed, and not only was Saladin observed making his way to that bank, but Melville was discovered as he rose to his feet.

Red Feather affected great surprise at the discovery, and offered no objection when the three Sioux set out to capture the lad and his valuable animal.

In the presence of these warriors Red Feather was his old, domineering, ugly self. He spoke sharply, and finally ordered one of the horsemen to dismount and give up his animal. He offered no theory to account for the appearance of the boy on the other shore, or for the singular fact that he was on foot himself.

The promptness with which his order was obeyed would have been amusing under other circumstances. Red Feather took possession of his property secured in this rather questionable manner, and then calmly awaited the return of the three who had set out to capture Melville and Saladin.

His fear was that the main party under Tall Bear might arrive and complicate matters; for the chief had formed the conclusion that the strange horsemen whose appearance allowed him to escape so easily from the cabin were white men, and that the main band of Sioux therefore had withdrawn.

By-and-by the warriors returned from the other side, with the announcement that the lad had escaped, and it was useless to follow him farther.

There was no chief with the smaller company, and Red Feather told them that, since there was no chance of finding any settlers in the neighborhood, they would ride back to their own villages, which lay to the south-east.

The start was made, and the horsemen passed fully a mile in grim silence. At the end of the mile he ordered them to keep the course they were following, while he alone turned to the right in quest of Tall Bear and his band of Muddy Creek Sioux.

Left to himself, Red Feather rode a short distance to the right, and then, changing his course due north, struck the pony into a gallop.

He was now heading toward the home of the Clarendons, where he had met so many singular experiences during the earlier part of the evening. He held Dot with such care that she continued sleeping as sweetly as if lying in her own bed at home.

Never was Red Feather more cautious and skilful. Thoroughly trained in woodcraft, and an adept in all the cunning of his people, he used those gifts with success, and, though he approached close to the party of Sioux which were hurrying away from the vengeance of the white men, they never suspected the fact, and the meeting was avoided.

Within the succeeding half-hour his listening ear caught the neigh of a horse which had detected his own while the two were invisible. Instantly the chieftain brought the pony to a standstill, and peered and listened with all the acuteness he possessed.

The horsemen were coming that way, and would soon be in sight. At the very moment their figures were beginning to outline themselves he emitted a whistle, precisely the same as that used by Melville Clarendon when he signaled to him from the Upper Crossing.



As he did so he held his pony ready to send him flying over the prairie at break-neck speed.

But his heart was thrilled almost in the same second by a reply, which he knew came from no lips except those of the boy himself.

Yes; Melville had recognized the call, and sending back the reply, he shouted—

"That's Red Feather! Come, father; I know he's got Dot!"

In a twinkling, as may be said, the chief found himself in the middle of the band of Nat Trumbull and his rangers, where he was overwhelmed with congratulations. Although Dot was asleep, her father could not be restrained, and caught her in his arms and pressed her to his heart with tears of joy and thanks to Heaven for its mercy in restoring her to him unharmed.

It must be said that Dot was disposed to be cross at being awakened in this summary fashion; but when her little brain came to understand all that had taken place, and she saw that it was her own father who was caressing her, she laughed and shouted, and wanted to kiss and embrace every one of the party, who were just as much pleased to fondle the child as though each had a proprietary interest in her.

Since it was evident the Sioux could not be brought to book, Nat Trumbull turned about and headed for Barwell, which the whole party reached before the morning sun appeared. Red Feather kept them company, and I must say that I doubt whether the President of the United States himself could have received a warmer welcome when the whole truth became known to the pioneers.

The outbreak of the Sioux was repressed before it had time to assume serious proportions, and, inasmuch as every one who had taken any part in it was anxious to clear himself, the leaders envied the position of Red Feather, who had faced about so early that no suspicion could attach to him. He was re-established in the good graces of his people, and since that time has acted in such a manner that no one will question his right to be considered a good Indian.

THE END