It struck the rancher that it would be well to let the Sioux know that he was still on guard. He caught glimpses here and there of the upper part of a repulsive face, with its long black hair and serpent-like eyes, on the alert to catch him unawares, and he fired at the nearest.

The aim was good, but there was no reason to believe that he had inflicted harm, though he must have come nigh it.

Strange it is that in the most trying moments, when it would seem that a trifling thought should be impossible on the part of a person, he sometimes gives way to a fancy that is of that nature. Recalling the story which he had read when a boy, and which is familiar to all our readers, the rancher now picked up his hat at his side and gently raised it to view, taking care to lower his own head beyond reach of harm.

Instantly a couple of rifles cracked from the other side of the stream, and he smiled grimly when he saw the marks of the bullets in the crown.

"They shoot well," he said, turning his face toward his wife and holding up the hat, "but they made a slight mistake that time."

If the Sioux supposed that the last shots were fatal, they were likely to repeat their attempt to cross. That would never do, and, more with a view of letting them know no harm had resulted, than in the hope of inflicting injury, the rancher took aim at what seemed to be the forehead of one of the warriors, a short distance up stream, and fired.

To his amazement, the wild screech left no doubt that the shot was fatal. The bullet had bored its way through the bronzed skull of the miscreant, and the force of assaulting Sioux was now reduced by one-third.



CHAPTER XII.

FACING WESTWARD.

The rancher was astonished beyond measure at the success of his shot. He had looked for nothing of the kind, but there could be no mistake as to the result; there was nothing to be gained by any pretence on the part of the Sioux. He certainly was as dead as dead could be.

How he longed, like a certain famous general, for the coming of night! A little more darkness and he would flee with his wife and child under its friendly cover, and place a safe distance between them and their enemies, before the latter could learn of their flight.

Several minutes passed without a demonstration on either side, but while matters stood thus, a new danger presented itself to the rancher. Why should the Sioux stay where they were? What was to prevent them moving farther up or down the bank, under the screen it afforded, and crossing unobserved? The winding course of the current gave every chance of doing this, and surely they were not likely to forget such an obvious course.

The thought had hardly presented itself to the watcher when that very thing was attempted. The one who essayed it, however, forgot the caution he should have remembered.

The slowly settling night and the falling snow may have misled him, but when the warrior rode his pony into the stream at a point considerably above, Starr observed him at the moment he began descending the bank.

This was something that must be nipped in the bud. He shifted his position to where the grass gave slightly better protection, and sighted with the utmost care and deliberation.

The shot was successful, but not precisely as he counted upon. The bullet, instead of striking the rider, pierced the brain of the pony, who reared frantically, plunged forward on his knees, and rolled upon his side, the Sioux dexterously saving himself by leaping away and scurrying behind the swell before the white man could fire a second time.

"If they try it at that point, they will do so at some other," was the conclusion of the rancher, turning his gaze down stream. But the current made such a sharp bend near at hand, that his view was shortened, and the effort could be successfully made without detection on his part.

An unexpected diversion occurred at this moment. The pack-horse, that had been contentedly cropping the grass near at hand and paying no heed to what was going on about him, wandered toward the bank, and was in imminent peril of being shot by the vigilant Sioux before he could be turned away.

Mrs. Starr called sharply to him, and her voice caused the prostrate husband to look around. The pony at that moment was ascending the swell, to go down on the other side to the water, where he would have been in plain sight of the red men.

Fearful that words would not check him, the rancher sprang up and, bending his head to save himself from his foes, ran the few steps necessary to reach the animal. Catching hold of his bridle, he jerked his head in the opposite direction, and, to teach him prudence, delivered a vigorous kick. The startled animal headed toward the west and broke into a gallop straight across the plain.

"Let him go," said the impatient owner, looking after him: "he is too lazy to travel far, and we'll follow him soon."

"Why not do so now?" asked his wife.

"I fear that they are looking for such a move, and will be across before we can gain sufficient start."

"But they may do so now."

"Am I not watching them?" asked the husband, beginning to creep up the swell again, but pausing before he was high enough to discern the other side.

"They may cross above or below, where you cannot see them," remarked the wife, giving utterance to the very fear that had troubled him some minutes before.

"They may do so, but I have just defeated such an attempt, and they will probably wait a while before repeating it."

"Then we can have no more favorable time to leave them than now."

"Such would be the fact, if I only knew of a surety that they would wait a while."

"I am afraid you are making a mistake, George."

"It may be, but my judgment is against what you propose. Suppose that, at the moment of starting, they should appear on this side; they would run us down within a few hundred yards."

"Are not our ponies as fleet as theirs?"

"Probably; but with Dot to look after, you would have more than your hands full, and nothing could save us."

"I could manage her very well; but do as you think best. We can only pray to Heaven to protect us all."

Looking to the westward, the rancher saw the pack-pony just vanishing from sight in the gloom. Brief as was the time that he had left the Sioux without watching, he felt that it had been too long, and he now made his way up the swell until he could peer over at the other bank, where the red men were awaiting the very chance he gave them that moment.

The narrowest escape of his life followed. Providentially, his first glance was directed at the precise spot where a crouching Sioux made a slight movement with his rifle, which gave the white man an instant's warning of his peril. He ducked his head, and had he not instinctively closed his eyes, would have been blinded by the dust and snow thrown against his face, as the leaden ball whizzed through the air, falling on the prairie a long distance away.

In its flight it passed directly over the heads of the wife and child, who noticed the peculiar whistling sound a few feet above them. But they were as safe from such danger as if a mile away. The swell of the bank would not allow any missile to come nigh enough to harm them.

"Don't be frightened," he said, with a reassuring smile, "they can't touch you as long as they are on the other side."

"But how long will they stay there?" asked the wife, unable to repress her uneasiness over the tardiness of her husband.

"Molly," said he, stirred by a sudden thought, "why not ride after the pack-horse?"

"And leave you here?" was the astonished question.

"Only for a few minutes; you will gain a good start, and it won't take me long to come up with you. I can put my pony on a run, and we shall gain invaluable time."

But this was asking more than the obedient wife was willing to grant. No possible circumstances could justify her in deserting her husband. If he fell, she had no wish to escape.

Dot, who had held her peace so long, now spoke:

"Papa, don't ask us to leave you, 'cause we don't want to. I asked mamma to let me go to you, but she says no."

Tears filled the eyes of the father, and his voice trembled as he said:

"Very well, little one; stay with your mamma, and when the time comes for us to start we will go together."

"But why don't you go now?" persisted the child, taking her cue, perhaps, from the words her mother had spoken.

"I will not keep you waiting long," he assured her, more affected by the question of the child than by the arguments of her mother.

Shifting the point of observation, the rancher raised his head just enough, cautiously parting the grass in front, to permit him to see the other bank, becoming more dimly visible in the falling snow and gathering gloom.

He scanned the points whence had come the shots, but could discover nothing of his enemies. They might be there, but if so they were invisible, as could readily be the case; but, somehow or other, the conviction grew upon him that they were moving, and that to postpone his departure longer was to invite the worst fate imaginable for himself and dear ones.

"We cannot leave too soon," he exclaimed, hastening to carry out the purpose that never ought to have been delayed so long.



CHAPTER XIII.

IN THE FRINGE OF THE WOODS.

Fully realizing the mistake he had made in waiting, the rancher now did his best to improve the precious time at his disposal.

His own pony had remained obediently near his companion, while the brush was going on between his master and the Sioux on the other side of the stream. The former hastily climbed into the saddle, and taking the reins in hand, looked at his wife.

"Are you ready, Molly?"

"I have been for a long time."

"Come on; keep close to me."

He spoke briskly to his horse, who broke into a swift gallop, which was imitated so promptly by the other that the couple advanced abreast toward the wooded section. It was no time for conversation, and the progress continued in silence.

The snow was now falling thick and fast, and the gloom had deepened to that extent that they could not see objects more than a hundred feet away. Both wife and husband continually glanced behind them, for they were almost certain that the red men were in the act of crossing the stream at the moment the start was made, and could not be far to the rear.

True, the fugitives had much in their favor. The keen eyes of the pursuers could detect their trail in the snowy ground, but not for long. By and by they might trace it only by dropping down from their ponies and using the sense of feeling. This would compel them to proceed carefully, and hold them well to the rear while the whites were using the occasion to the utmost, and continually gaining ground. Had the route to Fort Meade been level and unobstructed, they could have asked nothing more favorable. They would have forced their ponies to the utmost, and by the time the sun rose the vengeful red men would be placed hopelessly behind.

The straining vision saw nothing but the darkness and snow in the direction of the stream already crossed, but they could never feel relieved of the dreadful fear until safely within the military post of the Black Hills.

"Oh, papa, I see a horse!" was the startling exclamation of Dot, whom her mother had supposed, because of her stillness and immobility, to be asleep.

"Where?" demanded her father, grasping his Winchester and looking affrightedly around.

"Not there," replied the child with a laugh, working her arm out of its environments, and pointing ahead.

A solitary animal was observed standing as motionless as a statue a short distance in advance. Apprehensive of some trap by the Indians, the father brought his pony to a sudden stop, his wife instantly imitating him, and both peered ahead at the strange form.

They could see no rider, though there was something on the animal's back, which might have been a warrior lying flat, so as to protect his body from the rifle of the white man, or, what was equally probable, the owner was standing on the ground hidden by the horse, and awaiting his chance to send in a fatal shot.

"What's the matter?" asked Dot, puzzled by the action of her parents.

"S-h! We are afraid a bad Indian is there."

"Why, can't you see that's Jerry?"

Jerry was the name of the pack pony.

"Of course it is. Why didn't we think of it?" asked the father the next moment, relieved beyond measure by the discovery.

Jerry seemed to be of the opinion that it was the place of his friends to make the advances, for he did not stir until they rode up beside him.

The lazy fellow was found with his load intact. He had been given all the time he could ask for his journey to this point, and evidently was a little sulky over the treatment received at the hands, or rather the foot, of his master, for his head had to be jerked several times before he faced about, and then it required more vigorous treatment to force him into a lazy gallop.

Luckily, the greater part of the plain had been crossed before this reunion took place, and the party had not gone far when the rancher allowed the animals to drop to a walk. In front loomed a dark mass, which he recognized as the fringe of the wood observed from the bank of the stream behind them. Through this it was necessary to thread their way with extreme care, owing to the darkness and their unfamiliarity with the ground.

Upon reaching the edge of the wood the fugitives came to a stand-still.

Slipping from his saddle, the rancher brushed away the snow at his feet and pressed his ear against the ground.

"I can hear nothing of them," he remarked, resuming the upright posture; "I am quite hopeful that that party will molest us no more."

"It won't do to count on it," were the wise words of his wife.

"I think you had better dismount and lead your pony," said the rancher; "we can mount again when through the wood; there will be less danger from the trees and limbs, and you and Dot must be cramped from sitting so long."

He helped them to the ground. It was a relief indeed to both, for they had kept their places on the back of the horse for a number of hours. Dot yawned, stretched her limbs, and felt as though nothing would delight her so much as a frolic in the snow. The thoughtful mother had provided her not only with thick, strong shoes, but with heavy stockings, leggings, and warm clothing, with which she was well protected against the storm that was impending when they left their home.

Nothing could have better shown the childish innocence of her nature than her action in slyly removing her mittens, stooping down, packing a wad of snow with her hands and flinging it against her father's face, with a merry laugh.

"Gracious, Dot! how you startled me!" he said, looking around at her.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No; but don't speak or laugh so loud, for some of the bad Indians may be near."

"I forgot about that, but I'm going to hit Jerry, for he is so lazy he needs it."

And the indolent animal received a tiny whack from the snowy missile projected by the chubby hand of the child. He seemed to think, however, that it was no more than a snowflake, for he did not give even an extra wink of the eye.

The delay was only momentary, when the rancher, with one hand grasping the bridle-rein and the other parting the limbs and bushes in front, began groping his way through the growth of timber, where it was so dark that everyone's eyes were practically useless.

Directly behind the horse walked Dot, with her mother next, leading her pony, and the pack-horse bringing up the rear.

Ten minutes of this cautious progress and the leader checked himself with an impatient expression.

"What is it?" called the wife, in a guarded voice.

"Another stream of water."

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Nothing; I came near tumbling into it, with Dick on top of me; if he hadn't scented it first I would have done so."

"What is to be done?" asked Mrs. Starr, as grievously disappointed as her husband.

"I'm blessed if I know; it may be half a mile deep and ten miles across, with a perpendicular bluff a thousand feet high on the other side."

Leaving her pony, the wife took the hand of Dot and joined him where he had halted on the edge of the unknown stream.

"I've made up my mind that we shall do one thing right away," he remarked decisively.

"What's that?"

"Eat supper while we have the chance; Jerry is on hand with the provisions, and he may be somewhere else in the morning."

"I'm glad of that," said the happy Dot, "for I'm awfuller hungry than I ever was in all my life."

"Then supper it is."



CHAPTER XIV.

TURNED BACK.

It was a wise proceeding on the part of the rancher. The opportunity to make a substantial repast was theirs, and as he had remarked, there was no certainty when it would come again.

The bag in which the provisions were placed was taken from the back of Jerry, and the father helped his child and wife, who ate until they were fully satisfied. He dipped up water with Dot's small tin cup from the stream in front, and with it their thirst was slaked.

"Molly," he suggested, "you can carry one or two of the sandwiches without inconvenience."

"Yes."

"Let us both do so; we may lose Jerry, and if so, they will come in handy."

"I have a couple, too," said Dot.

"It isn't best that you should burden yourself with them."

"But I can't help it, papa."

"How is that?"

"They're inside of me," and the parents, even in their great dread, smiled at the odd conceit of the little one, who chuckled softly to think how she had "fooled" her papa.

The delay was brief. The rancher knew that it was impossible to reach Fort Meade without crossing the stream before them, with the probability that still others awaited them at no great distance. It can be understood with what depth of dread he contemplated swimming the animals over, with the certainty of the saturation of all their garments, on this winter night, and the cold steadily increasing.

In short, it meant perishing, unless a fire was kindled, in which case, a delay would be necessitated that would throw away all the advantage secured by flight. He was determined not to do it, unless actually driven to it as a last resource.

He did not forget that he was now where there was an abundance of material with which a raft could be constructed that would obviate this exposure, but the building of such a rude craft, under the circumstances, was next to impossible. He had no implement except his pocket knife, and might grope about in the darkness for hours without getting together enough timber to float them to the other side.

Obviously one of two things must be done—try to cross where they were or follow the bank down until a fording place could be found, and repeated trials were likely to be necessary before success was obtainable.

Singular it is that so often out of the mouths of babes are heard the words of wisdom.

The rancher had risen to his feet, and was in the act of mounting his pony to enter the water, when Dot spoke:

"Why don't you let Dick go ahead and you ride behind on Sally?"

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed the father admiringly; "I begin to believe that if we reach the fort, it will be through your guidance, my precious little one," and, stooping over, he kissed her cheek.

"Strange that we did not think of that," remarked the mother. "Dot is wise beyond her years."

The plan was adopted at once.

The mare ridden by the mother and child, and the horse of the father, were so intelligent that no risk was involved in the essay, which insured against the immersion held in such natural dread.

The saddle and trappings were removed from Dick, while the rancher mounted upon the side-saddle belonging to his wife. Then the horse was ordered to enter the water, and, with some hesitation, he obeyed, his owner being but a step or two behind on the mare.

The gloom was so deep that the hearing, and not the sight, must be depended upon. That, however, was reliable when nothing was likely to occur to divert it from its duty.

The stream was no more than fairly entered when the rancher made two unwelcome discoveries: The current was much stronger than he had anticipated, and the water deepened rapidly. Ten feet from shore it touched the body of the mare.

Inasmuch, however, as Dick was still walking, there was hope that the depth might increase no more, or, at most, not to a dangerous extent.

Mr. Starr could not see his own horse, but he plainly heard him as he advanced cautiously, feeling his way, and showing by his sniffing that the task was anything but pleasant to him. Not knowing the width of the stream, it was impossible to tell in what portion of it they were: but he was already listening for the sounds which would show that his animal was climbing out on the other side, when the very thing he feared took place.

A loud splash, followed by a peculiar rustling noise, showed that Dick was swimming.

At the same moment the mare sank so deeply that, had not the rider thrown his feet backward along her spine, with his body extended over the saddle and her neck, he would have been saturated to the knees. As it was, Sally was within a hair of being carried off her feet by the force of the current.

The rancher drew her head around, and, after a sharp struggle, she held her own, and began laboring back to the shore she had left; putting forth such vigor that it was plain the task was far more agreeable than the one upon which she first ventured.

Meanwhile, Dick was swimming powerfully for the farther bank, and before his owner could think of calling to him, owing to his own flurry, he heard his hoofs stamp the hard earth. True, he had landed, but that brief space of deep water was as bad as if its width were ten times as great; it could not be passed without the saturation of the garments of all, and that, as has been said, was not to be endured.

Before the mare could return Mr. Starr called to his pony, and the animal promptly obeyed, emerging only a minute after the mare from the point where he had entered.

"It's no use," he said to his waiting wife and little one; "there is one place where the horses must swim."

"Did you get wet, papa?" enquired Dot, solicitous for his welfare.

"No; but I came mighty near it."

"Then I suppose we must follow down the stream, and try it elsewhere," said the wife.

"Yes, with the discouraging fact that we are likely to pass a dozen fordable points, and strike a place that is deeper than anywhere else."

The saddles were readjusted, and the move made without delay. Since it was hard to thread their way through the wood, which lined the stream only a short distance from the water, they withdrew from it to the prairie, where travelling was easier.

Reaching the open plain, but keeping close to the margin of the timber, from which, fortunately, they had emerged at a point considerably removed from that of the entrance, the rancher repeated the precaution he had used before.

"Wait a moment," he said, in a low voice.

Once more the snow was brushed aside at his feet and the ear pressed against the ground.

To his dismay he heard the tramp of horses' hoofs on the hard earth.

"They are near at hand!" he said, in a startled whisper; "we must get away as quickly as we can."

He hastily helped his wife and little one on the back of the mare, mounted his own animal, and, with the pack-horse at the rear, moved along the timber on a rapid walk, continually peering off in the gloom, as though it was possible for him to see the Sioux, who certainly were at no great distance.

One fear troubled him: Suppose they should resort to the same artifice as he, and one of them appeal to the earth for evidence. He would be equally quick to discover the proximity of the fugitives, and with his sense of hearing trained to the finest point by many years' exercise, would locate the whites with unerring precision.



CHAPTER XV.

MISSING.

But there was no avoiding the risk. In silence the little party threaded their way along the margin of the prairie, listening for the sounds they dreaded to hear, and peering through the gloom for the forms they held in unspeakable fear. Not until they had progressed several hundred yards can it be said that the rancher breathed freely. Then he checked his pony, and those behind him did the same.

The next instant he was out of the saddle, with his ear once more against the cold earth.

Not the slightest sound reached him through this better conductor. If the Sioux horsemen were moving, they were too far off for the fact to be known. When first heard, they must have been close to the wood, on reaching which they undoubtedly dismounted and advanced on foot.

In that event, they must detect the footprints of the ponies in advance, and with their skill in trailing were certain to learn of the course taken by the whites. Then the pursuit would be resumed in earnest, and the perils would increase.

One possible remedy suggested itself, though there was no certainty of its success. The snow was now falling so fast that it promised to obliterate the footprints to that extent that they could not be followed in the dark. As it was, even the lynx eyes of the Sioux could avail them nothing. One of their number must be continually dismounting and using his hands to make sure they were not off the track. A half hour or more interval, and this resource would be taken from them by the descending snow.

It was this belief which caused the rancher to ride Dick among the trees, where he and the rest dismounted. Then they groped forward with no little difficulty for some rods and halted.

"Be careful," he said, speaking particularly to Dot, "and do not make any noise, for I believe those bad Indians are not far off, and they are looking for us."

Dot showed her obedience by not venturing to whisper.

It was not Mr. Starr's purpose to lose time by staying where they were. Accordingly, after threading their way for some distance farther, he emerged once more on the plain, and, as they remounted, rode straight away from the timber.

The object of this stratagem can be readily understood. The pursuing Sioux, after discovering that the trail of the fugitives led along the margin of the wood, were likely to override it for some way, before learning the fact. Then they would turn about and hunt until they found it again. The fact that at that point it entered the timber must cause another delay, where the difficulty of tracing the whites would be greatly increased. By the time they came back again to the open plain, the fall of snow was likely to render further pursuit almost, if not quite, impossible.

This was the theory which guided the rancher's actions, though he was too wise to lose sight of the probability of serious miscalculations on his part. There was another danger, however, of which he failed to think, but which was not long in manifesting itself.

By shifting his course so often, and leaving the stream altogether, he was sure to lose his bearings in the darkness. Instead of following the most direct route to Fort Meade, he was liable to turn back on his old trail, with the result that when the sun rose in the morning he would be in the vicinity of his home, with the environing perils more threatening than ever.

Beyond all question this would have been the result had not nature come to his help. He was on the point of turning his pony's head around, to re-enter the timber he had left, when he discovered to his astonishment that he had already reached it. There were the trees directly in front, with the nose of Dick almost touching a projecting limb.

He was at a loss to understand it until his wife suggested that the winding course of the stream was responsible for the situation. Even then he hardly believed until investigation convinced him that it was the same swift current flowing in front.

"We unconsciously strayed from a direct course, and must have been going at right angles to the correct one."

"There is no saying, George; only I advise you not to make too many experiments in the darkness. Several hours have passed since night came, and we are not making much progress toward the fort."

"You are quite right," was the nervous response, "but safety seemed to demand it. How are you standing it, Dot?"

The child made no answer.

"She is asleep," whispered the mother.

"I hope that it may last until morning. If you are tired of holding her in your arms I will take her."

"When I grow weary of that," was the significant reply of the wife, "I will let you know."

Inasmuch as the continually obtruding stream must be crossed, and the precious hours were fast passing, the rancher gave every energy to surmounting the difficulty.

As he led the way once more to the edge of the water, he asked himself whether the wisest course was not to construct a raft. The work promised to be so difficult, however, that he would have abandoned the thought had he not come upon a heavy log, lying half submerged at the very spot where he struck the water.

"This will be of great help," he said to his wife.

Leaning his Winchester against the nearest tree, he drew out his rubber safe and struck a match. The appearance of the log was encouraging, and after some lifting and tugging he succeeded in rolling it into the stream.

That ended the matter. To his chagrin, the water-soaked wood sank like so much mud.

"We won't experiment any longer," concluded the disappointed rancher; "but try the same thing as before."

Dick was stripped again and put in the lead, with his master following on the back of the mare. Mrs. Starr, being helped to the ground, stood with the sleeping Dot in her arms, awaiting the return of her husband from his disagreeable experiment.

"Heaven grant that this maybe the right place," was his prayer, as he entered upon the second essay; "if we are turned back again I shall be in despair."

His interest was intensified, for he was impressed with the belief that this was to be the decisive and final test.

As if Dick, too, felt the seriousness of the situation, he stepped resolutely forward, bracing himself against the strong current which was heard washing about his limbs. It seemed to the anxious rancher that he could discern the figure of his pony as he led the way through the gloom, only a short distance in advance of the mare.

When certain that they were fully half-way across, his heart began to beat with hope at finding that the water did not touch the stirrup in which one foot rested. It was plain also that the leading horse was still firmly wading.

With a relief which possibly may be imagined, the horseman heard Dick step out on the bank a few minutes later. He had waded the whole distance, thus proving that the stream was easily fordable at that point.

The delighted rancher could hardly repress a cheer. But for his fear that the Sioux might be in the vicinity, he would have announced the joyous fact to his wife.

"Perhaps, however, her sharp ears have told her the truth," was his thought, as he wheeled the mare about and started to return, leaving Dick to follow him, as he would be needed to help the party over.

With never a thought of danger, the animal was forced hastily through the water, coming out a few paces below where she had entered it.

"We are all right," he called; "we will be over in a jiffy."

To his astonishment there was no response. He pronounced his wife's name, but still no reply came. Then he moved up and down the bank, stirred by an awful fear, but heard and found her not.



CHAPTER XVI.

A THIEF OF THE NIGHT.

When the rancher entered the current with the two ponies, the interest of the wife, who remained behind with little Dot, was centred wholly in his effort to ford the stream. She stood on the very margin of the water, where, though unable to see the form of the rider or either of the animals, she could hear the sound made by them in passing through the current.

In this position, the pack-pony remained a few steps behind her and about half-way to the open plain. The child, who had been somewhat disturbed by the shifting about of herself, had fallen asleep again and rested motionless in her arms, with her form nestling in the protecting blanket.

Everything was silent except the slight noise caused by the animals in the water. In this position, with her nerves strung to the highest point, and her faculties absorbed in the single one of hearing, she caught a suspicious sound immediately behind her. It was as if Jerry was moving from the spot where he had been left.

Fearful of his going astray, her lips parted to speak, when, fortunately, she held her peace. It might be that some person was the cause of his action.

With the purpose of learning the truth, she stole through the timber toward the spot where he was standing a few minutes before. She was so close behind him, and moved so much faster, that she reached the open plain almost on his heels. Despite the gloom, she could make out his figure; and her feelings may be imagined when she distinguished the form of a Sioux warrior leading him.

Not only that, but the thief paused as soon as the open prairie was reached and lightly vaulted upon his back, beside the load already resting there. Then he hammered his heels against his ribs and the lazy beast rose to a jogging trot, immediately disappearing in the snow and darkness.

The wife, as may be supposed, was dumfounded and uncertain what to do, if indeed she could do anything. At the moment when it looked as if all danger was past, one of their enemies had unexpectedly stolen their pack-pony.

Where were the rest? Why did they content themselves with this simple act, when they might have done a thousandfold worse? How soon would the rest be on the spot? Was there no hope now of escape for the miserable fugitives?

These and similar thoughts were passing through her mind, when she heard her husband calling to her in a cautious voice. Not daring to reply, through fear of attracting the attention of their enemies, she threaded her way through the timber, and reached his side at the moment his heart was filled with despair at the belief that something frightful had taken place.

The joy of the rancher, on clasping his beloved wife once more in his arms, caused him to forget everything else for the moment, but she quickly made known the startling incident that had occurred.

"Heavens!" he muttered, "they have traced us after all, but where are the rest?"

"They must be near," she replied, laying her hand on his arm. "Listen!"

They did so, but heard nothing more.

"We must cross at once," he whispered.

No time was lost in following the prudent suggestion. The wife was helped upon the back of the mare, Dot still remaining asleep, and the husband, mounted on Dick, placed himself in front.

"There is only one place, and that lasts but for a few steps, where you will have to raise your foot to protect it from the water," he said, as they were about to enter the stream.

"I will remember," she nervously replied; "don't wait."

Once again the faithful pony entered the water, the mare so close behind that husband and wife could have touched each other, and the fording of the current began.

The rancher did not forget that it was impossible in the darkness to follow precisely his own course. Having emerged at a different point from where he entered, he was in reality following a different course, which might be the same as if it were a half mile farther up or down stream.

This proved to be the case, though the disappointment was of an agreeable nature, for the ponies struck a shallower part than that which was first forded. At no portion did the water do more than barely touch the bodies of the animals, and then only for a few steps. Once the mare slipped on a smooth stone, and came within a hair of unseating her rider, but the latter's skill enabled her to retain her seat, and a few minutes later the two came out on the other side, without a drop of moisture on their garments.

"Thank Heaven!" was the fervent ejaculation of the husband as the fact was accomplished. "It is better than I expected."

"But don't forget that they may have done the same thing, and perhaps are awaiting us near at hand."

"You may be right, Molly, and we cannot be too careful."

The words were barely uttered when the splashing of water behind them left no doubt that the Sioux were again on their trail.

"Quick!" whispered the husband; "dismount; you can't ride the mare among the trees; she will follow, and don't fail to keep close behind Dick."

It was important, above all things, to leave the spot before the red men landed. Otherwise, they would hear the horses and locate them without difficulty.

A disappointment awaited our friends. It will be remembered that the fringe of timber on the other side was quite narrow, and they naturally supposed it corresponded on the farther shore. But after threading their way for double the distance, they were surprised to find no evidence of the open plain beyond.

The rancher dared not continue farther while there was reason to fear their pursuers were near. The brushing of the branches against the bodies of the animals and the noise of their hoofs could be detected in the silence, and was sure to betray the fugitives to any Sioux within a hundred yards.

The wife understood why the halt was made. Her husband stole back and placed himself by her side.

"You must be wearied with carrying Dot so long," he said sympathizingly.

"It is quite a trial," she replied, in the same guarded voice, "but there is no help for it, and I beg you to give the matter no thought."

"Let me take her a while."

"No, that will not do; you must hold your gun ready for instant use, and you could not do so with her in your arms. It is not so hard when we are sitting on the mare, for it is easy to arrange it so that she supports most of her weight."

"You are a good, brave woman, Molly, and deserve to be saved."

"Sh!" she admonished; "I hear something."

He knew she was right, for he caught the sound at the same moment. Someone was stealing through the wood near them. It was a person, beyond question, for a horse would have made more noise, and the sounds of his hoofs would have been more distinct than anything else. That which, fell upon their ears was the occasional crackling of a twig, and the brushing aside of the obtruding limbs. No matter with what care an Indian warrior threaded his way through the timber in this dense gloom, he could not avoid such slight evidences of his movements—so slight, indeed, that but for the oppressive stillness and the strained hearing of the husband and wife they would not have detected them.

Confident that the red man could not trace them in the gloom, even though so dangerously near, the dread now was that the ponies would betray them. Those watchful animals often prove the most valuable allies of the fleeing fugitive, for they possess the power of discovering impending danger before it can become known to their masters. But when they make such discovery they are apt to announce it by a stamp of the hoof or with a sniffing of the nostrils, which, while serving the master well, has the disadvantage also of apprising the enemy that his approach has become known.

Stealing from his position beside his wife, the rancher stepped to the mare and passed his hand reassuringly over her mouth, doing the same with his own pony. This action was meant as a command for them to hold their peace, though whether it was understood to the extent that it would be obeyed, remains to be seen.



CHAPTER XVII.

THROUGH THE WOOD.

Even in that trying moment, Starr could not help reflecting upon the peculiar turn matters had taken. He failed to understand the action of the solitary Sioux on the other side, who had contented himself with the simple theft of the pack-pony, when he might have done tenfold more injury to the fugitives.

And now, judging from the slight sounds that reached him, there was another single warrior prowling through the wood, instead of several. It might be, however, that his companions were near, awaiting the result of his reconnoissance, and would descend upon the whites the instant the way opened.

But these speculations were cut short by the alarming discovery that some strange fatality was bringing the scout fearfully close to where the husband and wife were standing beside their animals, hardly daring to speak in the most guarded whispers.

It must have been that the ponies understood what was expected from them, for they gave not the least sound. There was not a stamp of a hoof, and their breathing was as gentle as an infant's. So long as they remained mute it would seem that the peril must pass by.

And so it ought to have done, for assuredly the Indian could have gained no clew to the whereabouts of the fugitives from them or their animals.

But all the same, George Starr was not long in making the uncomfortable discovery that the red man was at his elbow, and the crisis was upon him.

The rancher knew where the miscreant was, and he determined to chance it. He silently clubbed his Winchester, brought it back over his left shoulder, and, concentrating his utmost strength in his arms, brought down the butt of this weapon with resistless force.

It could not have been better aimed had the sun been shining. It crashed on the crown of the unsuspecting Sioux, who sank silently to the earth, and it is enough to say that the "subsequent proceedings interested him no more."

"Sh!" whispered the husband; "there may be others near us; do you hear anything?"

Neither could catch any suspicious noise, and he concluded it was best to move on. If they should remain where they were when daylight came, all hope would be gone. The situation would be hardly improved if they stayed any longer in the gloom, after what had taken place.

Making known his purpose to his wife, he placed himself at the head of Dick, and holding his bit, started forward. The mare followed the moment she heard what was going on, and the mother with her child walked between.

But less than twenty steps were taken, when the leader paused abruptly, alarmed by an altogether unexpected discovery. The twinkle of a light appeared among the trees in front, so directly in their path that, had they continued straight forward, they would have stepped into the blaze.

This was cause for astonishment, and suggested that the fugitives had struck a place where other Sioux had gathered, probably a number who knew nothing of what had taken place a short time before. If this were true, there ought not to be much difficulty in working past them.

Still, critical as was the situation, he felt that the chance to learn something ought not to be thrown away. Whispering to his wife to remain where she was, he left her and stole forward until he could gain sight of the blaze and those surrounding it.

There was the fire made by a number of sticks heaped against the trunk of a tree, and burning vigorously, but to his surprise, not an Indian was in sight. How many had been gathered there, how long since they had left, whether they would return, and if so, how soon? All these were questions that must be left to some other time before even attempting to guess the answers.

He waited some minutes, thinking possibly the missing warriors would return, but not one showed up, and he felt it would not do to tarry longer. A goodly portion of the night had already passed, and Fort Meade was still a long distance away, with a dangerous stretch of country to pass.

It seemed to the husband and wife that they hardly breathed, as they moved through the wood. He held his pony by the rein with his left hand, while he used the right, grasping the Winchester, to open the way in front. They could do nothing more, listening meanwhile for the sounds of danger which they expected to hear every moment.

But lo! while they were advancing in this guarded manner, they suddenly came out of the wood and into the open country again.

The husband uttered another exclamation of thankfulness, and checked the animals.

"Now it looks as if we had a chance to accomplish something," he said, "and I am sure you are in need of rest."

"I am somewhat weary, but I can stand a great deal more, George; give no thought to me, but think only of the peril from which we must escape this night or never."

He gently took the little Dot, swathed as she was in the heavy blanket, and held her while his wife remounted the mare, without help. We have said she was an excellent horsewoman, as she had proved before this eventful night.

"Now," said he, when she was firmly seated and extended her arms to take the child, "I am going to use my authority as a husband over you."

"Have I not always been an obedient wife?" she asked, with mock humility.

"No man was ever blessed with a better helpmate," was the reply.

"I await your commands, my lord."

Instead of passing the child to her, he reached up his rifle.

"What is the meaning of that?" she asked wonderingly.

"Lay it across the saddle in front, where its weight will not discommode you. I shall carry Dot."

"But think, George, of the risk it involves. I assure you that it will be no task for me to take care of her now that I am in the saddle again."

"All discussion is ended," he replied, with a severity which she well knew was assumed, though she did not dispute him. She accepted the weapon and placed it in position as he directed. Then supporting the precious child with one arm, he mounted his pony and placed himself by her side.

"We will ride abreast; if any emergency calls for the use of my gun, I can pass Dot to you in an instant; you must remember too, that I have a revolver, which may serve me better in any sudden peril."

"I obey," she replied, "but you will not deny me the right to think you are committing a mistake; since, however, it is actuated by love, I appreciate it."

"I assure you," he said with deep feeling, "that aside from the consideration due you, I am acting for the best. I wish you, as long as possible, to remain at my side. We have made so many turnings and changes in our course that I have lost all idea of the points of the compass; I do not know whether we are going toward Fort Meade or straying off to the right or left, with the probability that in the morning we may be far out of the way. Help me to keep our bearings."

And husband and wife rode out on the prairie in the darkness and falling snow.



CHAPTER XVIII.

NIGHT AND MORNING.

By this time the snow lay to the depth of several inches on the earth. It was still falling, and the cold was increasing. The flakes were slighter, and there were fewer of them. His knowledge of the weather told the rancher that the fall would cease after a while, with a still further lowering of the temperature. Thanks, however, to the thoughtfulness of his wife more than himself, they were so plentifully provided with blankets and extra garments that they were not likely to suffer any inconvenience from that cause.

Fortunately for them and greatly to their relief, the stretch of prairie which they had struck continued comparatively level. Occasionally they ascended a slight elevation or rode down a declivity, but in no case for more than two hours was either so steep that the ponies changed their gait from the easy swinging canter to a walk.

Once, after riding down a slight decline, they struck another stream, but it was little more than a brook, so strait that a dozen steps brought them out on the other side with little more than the wetting of their animals' hoofs.

They rode side by side, for the mare was as fleet and enduring as the horse. Now and then they glanced back, but saw nothing to cause alarm, and hope became stronger than before.

"We are doing remarkably well," said the husband, breaking the silence for the first time in a half hour.

"Yes," was the thoughtful reply; "we must have travelled a good many miles since the last start, and there is only one danger that troubles me."

"What is that?"

"The probability—nay, the almost certainty—that we are not journeying toward the fort."

"I have thought much of that," replied the husband, giving voice to a misgiving that had disturbed him more than he was willing to admit; "it is as you say, that the chances are against our proceeding in a direct line, but it is equally true that the general course is right."

"How can you know that?"

"Because we have crossed two streams that were in our path, and they remain behind us."

"But," reminded the thoughtful wife, "you forget that those same streams are very winding in their course. If they followed a direct line, we could ask no more proof that we are on the right track."

"True, but it cannot be that they take such a course that we are travelling toward the ranch again."

"Hardly as bad as that, but if we are riding at right angles in either direction, we shall be in a sad plight when the morning comes. The sun will take from us all chance of dodging the Sioux so narrowly as we have done more than once since leaving home."

"We must not forget the peril of which you speak; at such times I trust much to the instinct of the animals."

"And would not that, in the present case, lead them to go toward rather than from home?"

"I'm blessed if I thought of that!"

The rancher was filled with dismay for the moment, and brought Dick down to a walk.

"No," he added the next moment, striking him into a gallop again, "if they were left to themselves they would try to make their way to the ranch, but they have been under too much guidance, and have been forced to do too many disagreeable things, for them to attempt that. I am sure we are nearing Fort Meade."

"I trust so," was the response of the wife; which remark did anything but add to the hopefulness of her husband.

The animals now began to show signs of fatigue. The snow balled under their hoofs, causing a peculiar jolting to the riders, when it became so big that the weight broke it or made their feet slip off, when new gatherings commenced immediately to form.

After being forced to a canter the horses would drop of their own accord to a walk, and soon they were left to continue at their own gait.

"How far, Molly, do you think we have come?" asked the rancher.

"It must be fifteen miles, and possibly more; if it were in a direct line, adding what we made before crossing the last stream, it would be safe to wait until morning."

Again the wife gave expression to the thought that was in her husband's mind. He had been asking himself for the last half hour whether it would not be wise to come to a halt for daylight. The rest thus secured to the animals would enable them to do much better, when the right course could be determined with absolute certainty, and a few hours' brisk riding ought to take them beyond all fear of their harassing enemies.

There remained the haunting fear of their being on the wrong course. If daylight found them little nearer the fort than when at the ranch, their situation would be most critical. But all speculation on that important matter must remain such until the truth could be learned.

One reason why the rancher did not propose a halt before it was hinted at by his wife, was that no suitable place presented itself. It would not do to camp in the open plain, where there was no shelter for them or their animals; they must keep on until the ground changed.

That change came sooner than they anticipated. The ponies were plodding forward with their loads, when, before either of the riders suspected it, they were on the edge of another growth of timber, which promised the very thing they sought.

"Here we are!" said Mr. Starr, "and I think we can say that the journey will be suspended until daylight."

"If there is another stream, George, I shall feel safer if we place ourselves on the other side before we halt for the rest of the night."

"I don't view another fording with much pleasure, but we can soon find out how it is."

The character of this timber differed from that which they had already passed, in that it abounded with so many bowlders and rocks that, after penetrating it a short way, it became too dangerous for the ponies to persevere. They were liable at any moment to break a limb.

"Remain here a few minutes while I investigate," said the rancher, passing the sleeping Dot to his wife.

He penetrated more than a hundred yards, without coming upon any water. He did not go farther, for he was satisfied there was none near them. The ground not only grew more rocky and precipitous as he advanced, but steadily rose, so as to show that he was at the base of a ridge over which it was a difficult matter to make their way. It would have been folly to try it in the darkness, and on his return he sought some spot favorable for going into camp.

He was more successful than he expected. A mass of rocks was found, whose tops projected sufficiently to afford a fair shelter. The snow, slanting from the other direction, left a comparatively large surface bare. Here the ponies were drawn to one side and their trappings removed. There were not enough spare blankets to cover them as the fugitives wished to do, but they were too tough to suffer much.

Then the blankets were distributed, and so placed that when the husband and wife huddled together against the base of the rocks, they, as well as Dot, were quite comfortable. The rancher might have gathered wood and started a fire, but it was not needed, and they feared the consequences of such a proceeding. They were so worn out with the trials and toil of the night, that they soon sank into a deep slumber which lasted till morning. Then, upon awaking, the first act of the rancher was to ascertain his bearings, so far as it was possible to do so.

The result was the disheartening conviction that they were no nearer Fort Meade than when they forded the last stream early on the preceding night.



CHAPTER XIX.

A STARTLING SURPRISE.

We must not forget that young Warren Starr and Tim Brophy have an important part to play in the incidents we have set out to relate.

We left them in the wooded rocky section, where they had spent the night together in the rude shelter erected a year before when on their hunting excursions. They were awakened by the frenzied cry of the young Irishman's horse, and appeared on the scene just in time to save the pony from a grizzly bear, who made things exceedingly lively for the young gentlemen themselves.

But relieved of their peril, they sat down like sensible persons to make their morning meal from the lunch brought thither by Tim. They ate heartily, never pausing until the last particle of food was gone. Then they rose like giants refreshed with new wine.

"Now," said Warren, "we will mount the ponies, and instead of making for the fort will try to find the folks."

"I'm wid ye there, as I remarked previously," was the response of the brave young rancher, who was ever ready to risk his life for those whom he loved.

"It will be an almost hopeless hunt, for father could give me only a general idea of the course he meant to take, and we are likely to go miles astray."

"We shall have to depind on Providence to hilp us, though it may be the folks are in no naad of our assistance."

"I pray that such may be the case," was the fervent response of Warren, accompanied by a sigh of misgiving. "I think we shall be able to take care of ourselves, but father is in a bad fix with mother and Dot on his hands. I hope Plummer has joined them."

"He niver will do the same," remarked Tim gravely.

"Why do you say that?"

"He has been killed by the spalpeens, for if he hadn't, he would have showed himsilf before we lift the ranch."

"It looks that way, but you cannot be certain."

"I wish I couldn't, but he must have larned of thim being so near the house as soon as mesilf, or very nearly so, and he would have been back before me. That he didn't come is proof to my mind that he niver will—ye may depind on the same."

This brief conversation took place while the youths were saddling and mounting their horses. They made certain that everything was secure, and then, carefully guiding their animals among bowlders to the open prairie, paused a moment to decide upon the best course to take.

To the northwest stretched the white plain in gentle undulations, and in the clear sunlight, miles away in the horizon, rose the dark line of a wooded ridge, similar to the others described, and which are so common in that section of the country. They agreed that the best course was to head toward it, for it seemed to them that the rancher had probably crossed the same at some point, or if he had not already done so, would ride in that direction. Possibly, too, the father, despite the wishes he had expressed, would suspect such a movement on the part of his son. If so, the probability of their meeting was increased.

The air was clear, sharp, and bracing, with the sun shining from an unclouded sky. It was a time to stir the blood, and had not the young ranchers been oppressed by anxiety for their friends, they would have bounded across the plain in the highest possible spirits. The ponies, having no such fear, struck into a swinging gallop of their own accord, which continued without interruption until more than half the intervening distance was passed. All this time the youths were carefully scanning the wooded ridge, as it rose more distinctly to view; for they could not forget that they were more likely to meet hostiles than friends in that section, and approaching it across an open plain, must continue conspicuous objects to whatever Sioux were there.

"Tim," said Warren, as they rode easily beside each other, "unless I am much mistaken, a fire is burning on the ridge."

"Where?"

"Almost directly ahead, but a little to the left; tell me whether you can make it out."

The Irishman shaded his eyes with one hand, for the glare of the sun on the snow was almost blinding, and after a moment's scrutiny, said:

"Ye are right; there is a fire up there; not much smoke does the same give out, but it is climbing up the clear sky as straight as a mon's finger."

"I take it that it means Indians; it seems to me they are all around us."

"I agraas wid ye, but s'pose it is a fire that yer fayther has started himsilf."

Warren shook his head.

"He would not do so imprudent a thing as that."

"But he moight have in his eye that we'd be looking for something of the same."

Still his friend was unconvinced.

"He could not be certain that it would be noted by us, while he must have known that it was sure to attract the attention of the Sioux. No; I cannot be mistaken."

"Do ye want to pass it by widout finding out its maaning?"

"If it is father who has kindled the blaze, and he is looking for us, he will find some way of telling us more plainly——"

"Do ye obsarve?" asked Tim, in some excitement.

Beyond question the approach of the two young horsemen had produced an effect. The faint column of smoke which, until that moment, had climbed perpendicularly up the sky, now showed a wavy appearance, vibrating from side to side in graceful undulations, as though it were a ribbon swayed by human hands. But Warren, instead of accepting this as did his companion, regarded it as more indicative of danger. The Sioux that were responsible for the ascending vapor were aware of the approach of the couple, and were signalling the fact to others whose whereabouts was unknown to the whites.

"Do ye moind," said Tim, "that two months since, whin we were hunting along the Big Cheyenne and got separated from him and Plummer, he let us know where they were in jist that way?"

It was a fact. Precisely the same signal had been used by the parent to apprise his son and companion where he and Plummer were, though in that instance it was the employe who adopted the method.

He was inclined for a few seconds to agree with his companion; but there was something in the prominence of the artifice, and the certainty that it would be noted by unfriendly eyes, that caused him to dismiss the belief. Enough doubt, however, had been injected into his mind to bring the desire for further investigation.

"We will ride straight toward it, as though we intended to go to the camp or signal fire as it may be, but will turn aside before reaching the ridge, so as to avoid the trap that may be set for us. I had an experience yesterday afternoon something like that before you joined me."

Strange it was that the couple, who, despite their youth, had learned so much of border life, forgot to keep watch of the rear, while giving so much attention to the front. Singular as it may seem, they had not looked behind them for the preceding half hour. The sight of the signal fire ahead so absorbed their interest that they neglected this obvious precaution; nor did it once occur to them that if the smoke was sent into the sky by hostiles, who meant it for the guidance of confederates, those same confederates were likely to be to the rear of them.

Such was the fact, and the knowledge came to the friends in the most startling manner conceivable, being in the shape of several rifle bullets which whistled about their ears. Then, when they glanced affrightedly around, they saw fully a dozen Sioux bucks, all well mounted, bearing down upon them at full speed.

They had issued from the rocky section behind them, and ridden to this perilous position without the youths once dreaming of the fact until, as may be said, the hostiles were literally upon them.



CHAPTER XX.

A RUN FOR LIFE.

But one thing could be done: that was to run, and Warren Starr and Tim Brophy did it in the highest style of the art. They put their ponies to their utmost pace without an instant's delay. The animals, as if conscious of their peril, bounded across the snowy plain on a dead run, with their riders stretching forward over their necks to escape the bullets expected every moment.

It must have been that the Sioux were sure the fugitives would look around the next moment, else they would have stolen nearer before announcing their presence in such a startling fashion.

The only hope for the young ranchers lay in the speed of their horses, since there was no other possible chance against the bucks who were as fierce after their lives as so many ravening wolves. The boys shouted to their animals, who flew across the plain as though the snow did not discommode them in the least. They did not separate, for the instinctive resolve thrilled them that they would fall or escape together.

Each was provided with a repeating Winchester, and enough has been told to prove they knew how to use the weapons effectively, but the opportunity was hardly the present, since to turn and fire while their ponies were on the run, offered little chance of success, and was liable to interfere with their speed, so important above everything else.

The flight was so sudden that, without thought, they headed toward the wooded ridge, where they had seen the suspicious signal fire, but they had not gone far before discovering that that would never do. The flight must end at the ridge, where they would find themselves at fearful disadvantage.

"We must have the open plain or we are lost!" called Warren.

"Ay, ay; I'm wid ye," replied Tim, who pulled sharply on the right rein of his animal. At the same moment his friend turned the head of his horse to the left, and, before the comrades were aware, they were diverging with several rods between them.

Warren was the first to perceive the mistake, and believing he had adopted the right line of flight, shouted for his friend to do the same. Tim had already noticed the turn and now thundered across the prairie toward him. But the devious course, as will be readily seen, threw him slightly to the rear, seeing which, Warren drew in his animal to allow him to come up.

"None of that!" called the Irishman; "ye've no advantage to throw away! Ye can't hilp me by that nonsense."

But Warren gave him no heed. The next minute Tim was almost at his side.

"I belave we're riding faster than the spalpeens," he added, glancing for the twentieth time to the rear, where the Sioux were forcing their horses to the utmost. They did not fire for some time after the opening volley, giving their whole attention to this run for life.

That the capacities of the pursuing ponies varied was quickly apparent. Several began dropping to the rear, but more than half maintained their places near each other.

It was hard to tell whether they were holding their own or gradually drifting back from the fugitives. The one hopeful fact was that as yet they were not gaining. Whether they would do so or lose ground must quickly appear.

Tim Brophy now performed a deed as reckless as it was daring. He watched the rear more than did Warren, and was in the act of drawing up beside the latter, when he discovered that one of the Sioux was leading all the rest. He was fully a rod in advance, and what was more alarming than everything else, he was gaining, beyond question, on the fugitives. His horse had developed a burst of speed that no one anticipated.

Rising to the sitting posture in the saddle, Tim brought his gun to his shoulder.

"Don't do that!" admonished Warren. "You have no chance to hit him, and will cause Billy to lose ground."

The Irishman made no reply; he was too much occupied with the act he had in mind. Furthermore, he noted that the buck whom he held in such fear was making ready to fire.

But Tim was ahead of him, and, by one of those strange accidents which sometimes happen, he hit him so fair and hard that, with the invariable cry of his race when mortally hurt, he reeled sideways and fell to the ground, his horse, with a snort of alarm, circling off over the prairie far from his companions.



Warren glanced around at the moment the gun was discharged and could hardly believe his own eyes. He knew the success was accidental, and hoped it would not encourage Tim to repeat the attempt.

It was expected that the shot would serve as a check to the rest, and ordinarily it would have done so, but it produced not the slightest effect in that direction. Back of the fallen warrior, whose body rolled over and over in the snow, as it struck with a rebound, were more than half a dozen, with the others streaming after them. They gave no heed to their fallen leader, neither uttering any outcry nor firing in return, but pressing their ponies to the highest possible point. They were resolved upon capturing those fugitives and subjecting them to a punishment beside which shooting would be a mercy.

It would not do to forget the country in front. While their chief interest lay to the rear, they were liable to run into some peril that would undo all the good gained by outrunning their pursuers. Warren saw that while they had swerved to the left, yet the course of the ridge would carry them to its base, unless they diverged still more from the direct path.

And yet this divergence must be made as gradual as circumstances would permit, since otherwise great advantage would be given their enemies by the chance to "cut across lots," or in other words to follow a straight line, while offsetting the curved course of the fugitives.

Directing the attention of Tim to the situation, he begged him to give no further thought to firing upon their foes.

"I'll let the spalpeens alone if they'll do the same wid me," was his reply, spoken in a low voice, for the two were separated by only a few feet.

"You can't have as good luck a second time."

"But," persisted Tim, "if I hadn't dropped that felly, he would have tumbled you or mesilf out of the saddle, as he was about to do whin I jumped on him wid both feet."

But Warren begged him to desist, confident as he was that any further attempt would result in ill to them. Tim held his peace, but leaving his friend to watch where they went he gave his chief attention to the Sioux, whose leaders, if they were not gaining ground, seemed to be holding their own.

Suddenly, to Warren's disgust, his companion again brought his gun to his shoulder. Before he could aim and fire, however, one of the bucks discharged his weapon and the bullet nipped the leg of young Starr, who continued leaning forward, so as to offer as little of his body as possible for a target.

Tim fired, but more than likely the ball went wide of the mark.

His companion hoped that the act of their pursuers in shooting was caused by their fear of losing the fugitives through the speed of their ponies.

But a short distance was necessary before the boys were riding in a line parallel with the ridge that had loomed up in their path. This gave them an open country for an unknown distance, over which to continue their flight, but it was hardly to be supposed that it would continue long. The section was too broken to warrant such a hope.

It may have been the perception of the fugitives' object that brought the shot from the Sioux. At any rate, if it should become manifest that the young ranchers were drawing away, the rifles of the pursuers were certain to be brought into effective use, and the distance between the parties was fearfully brief.



CHAPTER XXI.

AWAY WE GO!

One recourse was before the pursuing Sioux from the start: that was to shoot the horses of the fugitives. The wonder was that they had not aimed to do so from the first. With the couple dismounted, they would be at their mercy.

It was the fear of this that caused Warren to ask his friend to draw up as near to him as he could. It was not likely that both ponies would fall at once, and the survivor might be able to carry the couple to safety.

"I tell ye we are gaining," said the Irishman, with far more hope in his manner than Warren thought was warranted.

"We must gain a good deal before getting out of the woods," was the reply of the other, who devoted every energy to forcing his animal to his best pace.

"Look out! they're going to shoot again," said Tim.

Throwing himself forward, Warren hugged his pony closer than ever, his companion doing the same, instead of trying to use his gun. The volley came while the words were in course of utterance, but neither of the youths was touched. The Sioux must have found it equally hard to fire with their animals on a full run.

"Why don't the spalpeens save their powder?" was the disgusted question of Tim, but his feelings changed a minute later, when his own pony showed by his actions that he had been hit hard. He uttered a low, moaning cry, and staggered as if about to fall.

Warren was the first to notice it.

"Tim, Billy is going to drop; ride closer and mount Jack behind me."

"Not a bit of it! I'll see you hanged first," was the characteristic reply of the brave fellow, who sturdily refused to heed the urgent appeal of his friend.

"Why not?"

"Jack can't carry us both."

"He can until we reach the ridge."

"But we're not going toward it," insisted Tim, too observant to be deceived.

"Turn Billy's head that way," said Warren, growing desperate in the imminence of the peril, and swerving his pony to the right; "Jack can carry us both as well as one."

Still the Irishman hesitated. It might be as his companion said, but he was unwilling to imperil Warren, and destroy the chances of both, when everything looked so favorable for one.

Meanwhile, the stricken Billy was fast giving out. He struggled gamely, but it was evident that he must quickly succumb. At the most, he could go but a short distance farther.

The Sioux fired again, but nothing was accomplished. If Jack was hit, he did not show it during the few seconds that his rider held his breath.

Still Tim held back in the face of the pleadings of his friend. Two discoveries, however, led him to yield.

They were now heading straight for the ridge, which was barely half a mile distant. It must soon be attained, unless something happened to Jack. The foremost Sioux had fallen so perceptibly behind that there was reason to believe the horse could carry both riders to safety, or rather to the refuge which they hoped to find at the base of the ridge.

"I'll do the same, being it's yerself that asks it——"

"Quick! Billy is falling!" called Warren, far more excited than his companion.

The crisis had come. The poor animal could go no farther, and was swaying from side to side like a drunken person, certain to fall with the next minute.

Tim released his foot from the stirrup on his right, swung his leg over the saddle, as only a skilful horseman can do, and, holding his gun with one hand, grasped the outstretched one of Warren and made a slight leap, which landed him behind him.

It was a delicate and difficult task, and despite the skill with which it was executed, both came within a hair of tumbling headlong to the ground.

Quickly as it was done, it was not a moment too soon. The mortally wounded Billy suddenly went forward, his nose ploughing up the snow and earth, and after a few struggles all was over.

The action had not only increased the danger of both of the fugitives, but it rendered the situation of the Irishman doubly perilous. Although both leaned forward, they could not do so as effectually as when each was on his own horse, and Tim of necessity was the more exposed of the two.

Leaving Warren to guide and urge Jack, he gave his attention to the Sioux, who did not relax their efforts, but whose relative situations, owing to the varying speed of their horses, underwent a curious change of position.

Two were riding abreast, and so far as Tim could see there was not the least difference in the speed of their ponies. Behind them at a distance of several rods came two others, holding precisely the same relative positions, while the rest were strung along over the prairie, until it looked as if the hindmost was a third of a mile distant.

Nothing was to be feared from them, but what of those that were so much nearer?

That was the vital question that must soon be answered.

While the position of the Irishman was anything but pleasant, and with the horse on a jump he was required to take the utmost care to maintain his seat, he decided to try his gun once more.

This proved harder than he supposed. He could make no use of the saddle in which young Starr sat, and when he sought to turn he would have fallen, had he not kept one arm about the waist of his friend. And yet, in the face of all this, he managed to get his Winchester in position with the muzzle toward the leading Sioux.

Anything like aiming the weapon was out of the question, and it would have been folly to expect that a second chance shot would favor him. Nevertheless, the demonstration accomplished something unexpected. He had done execution with one shot, and when the bucks saw the muzzle pointing backward, they were scared.

The leaders naturally supposed they were the ones intended to serve as targets, and they ducked their heads with such suddenness that the Irishman grinned. Not only that, but one of them caused his pony—probably through some inadvertent act on the part of the rider—to swerve from his course, thereby interfering with those immediately in the rear.

Even the companion at his side was thrown somewhat out of "plumb," and lost a few paces, much to the delight of Tim, who gleefully told Warren of what had taken place.

The advantage to the fugitives will be understood when it is remembered that they were rapidly drawing near the ridge, now at no great distance in front.

True, there was no certainty that it would prove a refuge to them, if attained; but it would be more of a shelter than the open prairie, where, if driven to bay, there was not the slightest protection against the bullets of the Sioux, unless the body of Jack should be used as a breastwork.

The confusion of the bucks was only temporary. They needed no one to tell them what the aim of the youths was when they changed the line of their flight, nor could they fail to see that the ridge would be attained quite soon, unless they were checked.

Tim Brophy suspected that such thoughts were passing through their minds, and despite the hopelessness of the effort, he discharged his rifle toward them; and when it is stated that it was discharged "toward them," no more can be said. There is no reason to believe that he came within twenty feet of hitting any one of the Sioux.

It may be doubted, therefore, whether this essay on his part was beneficial to himself and companion, inasmuch as it must have lowered their opinion of his marksmanship and convinced the red men that they were altogether mistaken in giving heed to any more shots fired by him from the back of the pony, which was not only going at full speed, but was carrying a double burden.



CHAPTER XXII.

ON FOOT.

The fugitives were now so close to the ridge that Warren Starr, from his position on his pony, turned his attention to their immediate front. He saw that the race must end, so far as his steed was concerned, within the next second. The trees stood close together, the ascent was steep, and the bowlders and rocks, plainly discernible, since all leafage was gone, showed that the horse must halt of necessity at the moment of striking the base of the elevation.

The Sioux had ceased firing. They were so certain of capturing the youths that they saved their ammunition. The struggle could not last much longer.

"Be ready to jump off!" said Warren to his companion; "I am going to stop!"

Even as he spoke, he threw Jack on his haunches with a suddenness that would have pitched the couple over his head, had they not braced themselves. Both took a flying leap from his back and dashed for the cover now directly before them.

The purpose was still to keep together, but circumstances beyond their control prevented. They had no time to form any plan. Young Starr darted to the right, aiming for some rocks which he fancied might afford partial shelter. Tim had his eye on a somewhat similar refuge to the left, and made for that. He would have joined his friend had he known his intention, but the seconds were too precious to allow it, after a few steps were taken. So he kept on without once glancing behind him.

Still there was no firing. The Indians must have felt more certain than ever of their prey, thus to hold their shots. They emitted several whoops of exultation, and the foremost bounded from their ponies and sped after the fugitives like so many bloodhounds.

But the separation of the latter compelled a division of the former, who, it will be remembered, were scattered at varying distances, only a couple being at the heels of the young ranchers. Thus it came about that each was pursued by a single warrior, and through a whim which cannot be fully understood, the Sioux next to the leaders turned to the left on the trail of the young Irishman, who had thus the honor, if it may be so considered, of attracting the greater attention.

For a few moments Warren devoted his energies to running. He bounded like a hare over the first bowlder that interposed, swerved slightly to the right, to pass an obstructing rock, and went up the slope with the same headlong speed with which he had dashed from the level ground to the bottom of the slope.

It was not until he had sped fully a hundred yards in this furious fashion that he ventured to throw a glance over his shoulder. Then he learned that there was but a single Sioux in sight.

The fugitive had held his own so well against this miscreant, that the latter must have felt a quick fear of his escaping him altogether. Young Starr was an unusually swift sprinter, and it may be doubted whether the fleet-footed Indian could have run him down in a fair contest.

The fear of losing the young man caused the Sioux to check himself abruptly, bring his gun to a level, and let fly.

An extraordinary accident, or rather providence, saved the fugitive. At the very instant of his enemy firing, Warren's foot slipped in the snow, and he stumbled on his hands and knees. Certain that his fall was due to the bullet just sent after him, the Sioux, with a whoop of triumph, bounded forward over the bowlders and around the rocks to finish him.

Warren saw, with lightning-like quickness, that his fall might be his salvation. It had deceived his foe into the belief that he was either killed or mortally hurt, and he was, therefore, unprepared for that which followed.

The youth did not attempt to rise. He had slipped down in such a position that he was hidden from the sight of his pursuer. He quickly shifted around so as to face him, and, rising on one knee, held his Winchester pointed and ready for use.

He had not long to wait. The Sioux was so close that the next minute his head and shoulders appeared above the rock, as he took his tremendous strides toward the lad, whom he expected to see stretched helpless on the snowy earth.

The sight of him kneeling on one knee, with his rifle aimed, his eye ranging along the barrel, and his finger on the trigger, was the first startling apprisal of the real state of affairs.

The warrior instantly perceived his fearful mistake, and made a desperate attempt to dodge to one side, but though the loon may elude the bullet of the hunter's rifle, no man has ever yet been equal to the task. No screeching Indian was ever hit more fairly, surprised more suddenly, or extinguished more utterly.



And so it came about that in the twinkling of an eye Warren Starr was left without a pursuer. Not a solitary Sioux was in sight.

But he was too wise to think he was safe. He was simply relieved for the time being of his harassing foes. They must have heard the discharge of his rifle, and some of them would soon investigate when their comrade failed to return to them. This would be after a few minutes. Naturally they would suppose that the fugitive had been brought down, and not until a brief period had elapsed would they suspect the truth.

It was this interval which must be utilized to the utmost, if the youth hoped to escape. While the snow would reveal his trail so plainly that it could be followed without the least difficulty, yet his own fleetness ought to enable him to keep so far in advance of the Sioux that they could not gain another shot at him. True, he was deprived of his matchless pony, but the red men were also on foot, and therefore they stood on equal terms, with the opening in favor of the fugitive.

Warren would have been full of hope and resolution, but for Tim Brophy. His concern for his devoted friend forbade him turning the situation solely to his own account. He made a hasty examination of his rifle, and found nothing the matter with it. It was ready for use whenever needed.

Not a solitary warrior was in sight, and the profound stillness which reigned caused the incidents of the last few minutes to seem like some wild dream.

With that peculiar doubt that sometimes comes over one in such crises, Warren gently pinched one hand with the other. The result convinced him that everything was real—imagination had nothing to do with it.

The reports of his own Winchester and the Sioux's rifle were all that had broken the stillness since the headlong leap of the young ranchers from the back of the pony. There could have been no other report without its being heard by Warren, who was sorely perplexed over the fact.

Could it be that equally good fortune had befallen Tim Brophy? Had he been able to throw his pursuers off the track for the time? It seemed impossible that two such providences should come simultaneously to the fugitives. The Irishman was by no means as fleet of foot as Warren, and with the majority of the pursuers dashing after him, only the worst result was to be feared.

"Some of them will soon be here," was the conclusion of the youth, as he stood sorely perplexed as to what he should do; "if I remain, I shall have half a dozen of them around me, and then it will be all up; but what about Tim?"

In his chivalrous devotion to his comrade, he now began withdrawing from his dangerous position, but trended to the right as he faced his enemies, with the object of getting near Tim, and with the hope that he might be of help to him in his desperate strait.

He shuddered as he glanced down at the ground and observed the prints he made in the snow. There could be no delay in tracing him, no matter what direction he might take. It must be the same with his friend, who, despite any advantage gained at the beginning of his last flight, could be readily run down, if the Sioux preferred that to "winging" him while in full flight.



CHAPTER XXIII.

DOWN!

Meanwhile Tim Brophy found himself in the hottest quarters of his life.

Inspired by the same desperate thought of his friend, he strove, with all the energy he possessed, to widen the space between himself and his pursuers. Less fleet of foot than they, it took but a few seconds to show him the hopelessness of the task.

None of the trees was large enough to give protection to his body, but seeing no rocks that could serve him, he dodged behind the first trunk that presented itself. This was barely six inches in diameter, and was no better than nothing at all.

Pausing but a moment, he leaped away again, with that wild, aimless impulse which comes over one when panic-stricken. The halt, brief though it was, proved fatal. His pursuer was on his heels, and the brave youth turned at bay. As if fate was against him, when he attempted to bring his rifle to a level, he made a slip and it dropped from his grasp. He had no time to pick it up.

"S'render! s'render!" called his foe in good English, waving his right hand aloft with his gun grasped in it.

"I'll surrender, ye spalpeen!"

Resorting like a flash to nature's weapons, the Irishman delivered a blow straight from the shoulder, which sent the Sioux spinning backward with his feet pointing toward the sky.

Had he been the only foe to contend with, Tim might have saved himself, for the savage was utterly "knocked out," and the opportunity to finish him could not have been better.

Tim had his revolver, but in his excitement he forgot the important fact. He was about to leap upon his prostrate enemy, with the intention of snatching his gun from him and using it, when the other two Sioux burst to view.

Without waiting for them to assail him, the youth dashed forward like a panther at bay.

Before the foremost could elude the assault, he struck him as fairly as he had hit the other, and he sprawled on his back, with the breath driven from his body.

But the impetus of his blow carried Tim forward, and, half tripping in his headlong rush, he fell on his hands and knees. He strove frantically to save himself, but, before he could struggle to his feet, the other Sioux dealt him a stroke with the butt of his gun which laid the fellow helpless on his face.

The skull of the Irishman, however, was tough, and he quickly recovered, but not before several other warriors appeared on the scene.

For one moment the young rancher meditated a rush upon them, and had actually doubled his fists for that purpose, but even in his fury he perceived the folly of such a course. If he assailed the Sioux, they would quickly finish him then and there, while the fact of their having spared his life thus far proved that they did not intend to put him to instant death.

It was with singular emotions that he recognized among the last arrivals the Carlisle student Starcus, who had saved his life the preceding morning by his timely shot when the grizzly bear was upon him. The presence of the "civilized" youth among the hostiles told its own story.

"Ye've got me foul," said Tim, looking straight at Starcus as he spoke; "and now ye may do wid me what ye loikes."

Starcus, knowing the words and look were meant for him, made no answer, but kept in the background.

He was grim and silent. Who shall say what thoughts were stirring his heart at that trying moment! He had sat with this youth at the table of George Starr and his family.

He had partaken of their hospitality, and had claimed to possess the civilization which he was anxious his own race should adopt, but here he was, taking part in the pursuit and attack of two youths who not only had never done him harm, but had always acted the part of friends toward him.

There was one curious fact (and yet, perhaps it was not so curious after all) which was evident to the captured youth. The Sioux admired the brave fight he had made for himself. Trained for ages to regard physical prowess as above all virtues, the American race cannot fail to revere it, even when they are the sufferers therefrom.

The warrior who had first felt the weight of Tim's fist now began clambering to his feet. He was dazed and bewildered, for the blow was a terrific one. Landing squarely in his face, it had brought considerable crimson, which, mingling with the daubs of paint already there, gave him a frightful appearance.

He assumed the upright posture, and standing uncertainly for a few seconds, fixed his eyes on the prisoner.

Then grasping the situation, and recognizing him as the individual that had treated him so harshly, he suddenly emitted a shout, whipped out his hunting-knife, and rushed at him like a fury. Tim instantly threw himself into a pugilistic attitude, and no doubt would have given a good account of himself had he been permitted, for he was skilled in the art of self-defence, and such a person always has the advantage over a foe, no matter what his weapon, provided it is not a firearm.

But the collision did not take place. Three Indians interposed, restraining the fierce red man; among the foremost being Starcus, who roughly seized the upraised arm and forced the warrior back several steps, using some strong words in his own language. The savage strove to free himself that he might attack the youth, but he was not permitted, and finally gave up the effort and withdrew sullenly into the background.

This incident was hardly over, when the second warrior that had gone down before the young Irishman's prowess also gained his feet. He looked as if he would very much like to try conclusions again, with the aid of one of his weapons, but he seemed to think he could bide his time, and have it out on a more fitting occasion.

The captive was too wise to place a favorable construction on the interference of Starcus, despite the additional fact of his kindly offices of the morning. The rest of the Sioux had shown a wish to take him prisoner, for certainly the chance to bring him down had been theirs more than once. Actuated by their intense hatred of the white race, they looked upon sudden death as too merciful to a foe that had done them so much ill. He had slain one of their best men, and knocked prostrate two others; no punishment, therefore, was too cruel to be visited upon him.

While the group stood about the helpless captive they talked in their own language, without Tim being able to guess the meaning of a word uttered. He watched the countenances closely, and was surprised a minute or two later by the appearance of the last member of the party. He came straggling up as though he felt no concern in the proceedings. That which interested Tim the most was the sight of his valued Winchester in the fellow's hand. For one moment the youth thought he meant to hand it over to him, but that would have been a stretch of hospitality of which none of his race could ever be guilty. He did a rare thing for an Indian—indulged in a grin of pleasure at the prize which his companions had passed by to allow it to fall into his possession.

In his trying situation, Tim Brophy could not avoid a feeling of curiosity concerning Starcus. To him the fellow's conduct was inexplicable. While his presence among the Sioux was proof that he was "with them" in thought, intention, and feeling, yet there was the friendly act of the morning during the struggle with the grizzly, and his late interference to prevent the warrior from injuring him, which united to puzzle the captive.

As has been said, he was too wise to build much hope on these facts, but nevertheless they raised doubts and questions relating wholly to the future.

Would Starcus continue to hold his present enmity to the people that had been friendly to him?

While he had been carried away by the frenzy that had driven so many of his people out of their senses, was not an awakening likely to take place, when his better nature would resume control? Could he forget that he had eaten salt with this hapless fellow, and stand by, without raising hand or voice, when his extremity should come, as come it must, in a very brief while?

But these were questions that Tim Brophy could not answer; they must be left for the immediate future.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE FRIEND IN NEED.

While these lively scenes were taking place, Warren Starr was not idle. The report of his gun was plainly heard by the other Sioux and the captive, but the former took it for granted that it was fired by their comrade, and calmly awaited his return with the news of the death of the fugitive.

But as the reader has learned the boot was on the other leg. The youth was unharmed, and his enemy was of no further account.

Actuated by the chivalrous wish to help Tim, he began cautiously picking his way along the slope, at a considerable distance from the base, peering forward and listening intently for sights and sounds that could tell him how his companion had fared.

He had better fortune than he dared expect. The flickering of something among the trees warned him that he was in a delicate position, and his farther advance was with the utmost care, accompanied by glances on every hand, to guard against walking into a trap.

Very soon he reached a point from which he saw all that was going on. Tim was standing defiantly among the Sioux, who appeared to be discussing the question of what to do with him. He identified Starcus, and recognized also the hapless state of affairs.