Front matter (continued 2)

Tobe had made one blow, his knife sinking deep into the shoulder of the savage, inflicting a painful flesh wound, but in nowise disabling him. As he received the wound, Asamee gave a quick twist, that wrenched the knife from Castor's hand, tearing it from the wound, and hurling it several yards away.

However, he found his own hands full without attempting to draw a weapon, and it bade fair to result in a test of relative strength and endurance; their arms wound about each other, as they strove desperately for the mastery. But such was not to be the case.

Stevens dashed up, and paused before the contestants, with ready knife. He could not distinguish one from the other; and then, resolving to chance it, he spoke out.

"Who is it—white or red?"

"Both, I reckon—I kin answer fer the white, anyhow," muttered Castor, the words issuing by jerks. "Who're you?"

"John Stevens—let me help you," and the young man strove in vain to gain a fair stroke at Asamee.

"Gi' me the knife, hyar!" and as he spoke, Castor wrenched one arm loose, and then dashed his fist with crashing force full in the red-skin's face, who fell back, confused and bewildered.

Then Castor seized the proffered weapon. One quick, deadly thrust, and the contest was ended. Tobe coolly wrenched off the scalp, and then arose, puffing and blowing like a human porpoise.

"Wolf! Tough dog thet, fer a red. E'ena'most squoze my outsides in; durned ef he didn't! But how'd you come here? Hain't see'd nothin' o' ary stray gal—"

"Uncle Tobe, where are father and mother?" said Annie, springing forward, now assured that the strife was ended, by the conversation.

"Ge—thunder!" ejaculated Tobe, in amazement. "What next? The gal—ef 'tain't, then I'm a liar!" and the old scout clasped Annie to his breast, in a genuine "bear's hug," at the same time carrying the simile further, by an uncouth shuffle, quite as graceful as some of bruin's most finished antics.

"Don't—you'll smother her!" cried John; and, lover-like, there was a tinge of uneasiness in his tones, as he beheld another perform the same thing he had, only a few minutes before; but then it was all right.

"Nary time—will it honey? Gals ain't easy smothered thet a-way. B'ar a good deal o' huggin', them critters will. Kinder comes nat'ral to 'em, I guess. Lord bless ye, honey! I've a good mind to scold ye, right peert, now, fer your skeerin' us all so pesky bad!" but instead, Tobe smacked her lips right heartily.

"There, there, uncle Tobe!" and Annie twisted from his grasp. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself—at such a time, too. But where are they?"

"The old folks? Out yonder. They hid while I kem back to hunt you up, a'ter you jumped off to hunt this feller up. Did, didn't you? Then how did you chance to find him?"

"This is hardly the time for joking, Castor," rather crustily interjected John.

"Right, you be. Thar—I'm sober as a judge. But findin' thet honey-bird thar, jest sorter sot me crazy. Did, fer a fact! Jest sot me right on eend, like. Made me feel good—kinder squirmish all over, an' it had to come out or bu'st; which wouldn't 'a' be'n pleasant—the bu'stin' part, I mean. But come—the old folks 'll be mighty oneasy ontil we git back. Gi' me your hand, honey, an' you, John, keep cluss op."

"Where do you intend going, Castor?"

"To your house, a'ter t'others."

"Our house is like that of Mr. Wilson's—on fire, or burned to the ground by this time. You can't see the light from here; but we did, a little back."

"You don't—then whar's your folks?" exclaimed Tobe, anxiously.

"Out in the woods, somewhere. Fred gave the alarm—he overheard the plan as he was coming through the woods toward our house. He sent me on. He sent me ahead to warn Mr. Wilson, but Dusky Dick's devils captured me. I saw him set fire to Wilson's house."

"Then how'd you git away?"

"He set off after you—along the Lower Trace—and sent me with two Indians, as guards, to join Sloan Young's gang. We heard your horses, and one of them ran out to see who it was. I killed the one left with me. You finished the other, just now," hastily explained John.

"You don't tell me! Gi' me your hand—no, thar hain't no time for that now, but you're a trump, anyhow, if I do say so. It's a peskier job 'n I 'lotted on, durned if 't'aint, now! Hev to use right smart head-work to git out on it, too, ef we don't mind. Drat the imps—what's got into 'em, anyhow?" and Tobe spoke in a voice of intense disgust.

"What do you think best to be done, now?"

"Don't talk—I've got to think. Take the gal, an' keep cluss ahind me. Thar—so."

John passed one arm around the lithe waist of the maiden, who shrunk back at first, but then, as his pressure increased, she yielded, and felt all the better for so doing. Really, despite their ominous surroundings, the young couple were progressing finely.

Not another word was spoken until Tobe Castor paused and uttered the agreed upon signal; the cry of the night-hawk. Then Wilson and his wife sprung forward from their covert.

"Annie—our child—where is she?" gasped the mother, breathlessly.

"Here, mother!" and then the trio were locked in a close and warm embrace.

Tobe touched Stevens upon the arm, and drew him to one side. They were the only ones of the party fit for sober consultation, now.

"You say that pesky half-breed, Sloan Young, was at your house?" asked the old scout.

"Yes. I heard Dusky Dick say so."

"You don't think he—that is, you think the folks got out safe?"

"I do. If not, we would have heard of it. There was no shooting. Besides, Fred got there soon after dark, and was to start right away for here. He feared an attack would be made upon his people, too."

"Then they're on the road, some whars. They must 'a' see'd the light, as they hed higher ground to look frum, 'n we had. O' course Young 'd set out a'ter 'em, hot-fut. Then you say Dusky Dick went out torst the settlements?"

"Yes. Along the Lower Trace. He believed you had gone that way."

"I 'lowed he should. But mayhap 'twould 'a' bin better if we hed 'a' kep' on, as 't turns out now. We'll hev 'em both afore an' ahind, now—durn 'em! But we'll hev to run the chances, fer all I see," gloomily muttered Tobe.

"But our folks—what about them?" and there was a deep anxiety visible in the young man's voice, as he spoke.

"They're in the hands o' the good Lord, boy. We cain't do nothin' fer 'em now, onless we stumble onto 'em, like. The boy's with 'em, you say, an' he's wuth a heap in a muss like this 'ere. If so be it's to be, they'll git through all safe; but if not, then the Lord have marcy on thar souls!" solemnly added the hunter.

"Amen! But I fear the worst. I wish I was with them, now."

"You could do them but little good, if the worst is to come. Fred is thar, an' now you must kind o' take his place here. We'll need our best licks to bring 'em through, I'm afeerd."

"Tobe," said Wilson, approaching him, "what've we to do, now? Annie says Fred is not at Stevens'."

"We must turn 'bout face, an' strike fer the settlements. Not deerect, thar, fer Dusky Dick is 'tween us an' them; but by a sort o' circumbendibus like, thet'll throw them off o' the scent. We'll b'ar to the east—"

The further speech of the old hunter was abruptly cut short, by a series of thrilling sounds. Full well the little party knew the meaning of these, and each one shuddered convulsively at the dire visions conjured up before their mind's eye.

A rifle-shot, a shrill yell—other shots, followed by more cries and yells; then a wild uproar, as of deadly strife, at close quarters.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FOREST TRAGEDY.

We will now turn to and trace up the fortunes of the little party whom we left just quitting the "lodge by the rock," and entering the gloomy forest.

A longing, lingering look was cast back at the rude but loved structure, which had sheltered them for so long a time. But there was no retreating now.

Fred was probably the most anxious one of the party, for he knew, better far than they, the real extent of the peril that menaced. He knew that they would be fortunate indeed, were all members of both families alive and well at the next day-dawning.

He was not without some experience in Indian fighting, for before they removed to Minnesota, he had spent several winters trapping in the Blackfoot country, and with Tobe Castor, had, more than once, made his mark upon the persons of the dusky-skinned heathen. And since his residence here, Fred had kept his woodcraft brushed up, by long hunting excursions with the old scout.

So he cautioned his companions to step lightly and to avoid all conversation, while he glided on some yards in advance, trusting to discover any impending danger long enough beforehand to guard them from it. Their progress was necessarily slow, but the value of the young ranger's precautions was soon made apparent.

Fred's keen ear caught the sounds of approaching footsteps, and rapidly falling back, he drew his companions to one side on the narrow trace, where they crouched down amid the bushes. Fred knelt before them, his weapons ready for instant use, in case a collision was unavoidable.

The light pattering sound drew nearer, and then one form after another glided directly past the fugitives, who even held their breath, so imminent seemed the risk of discovery. Then the last link of the living chain passed by, and was lost to view amid the dense shadows.

Not until the last sound died utterly away, did Fred venture to move or speak. Then his voice was low, but full of uneasiness.

"It was Sloan Young's gang. I recognized him. They have gone to your home, and when they find their plans are discovered they will be after us, half-wild."

"Then let us hasten on at once," impatiently muttered Stevens. "We can reach your house by the time they get to ours. With such a start there is no danger of their overtaking us."

"Not so. You forget that Dusky Dick's gang is somewhere near here, and if we run across him, then we are lost indeed. A rifle-shot would call those devils back, and then we would be massacred in a moment—or else saved for the torture. No, we must use more caution now than ever. Will you be guided by me? I have had more experience in these matters than you have, or I should not ask such a thing," added Fred, modestly.

"Yes—we will do as you say. Only be quick!"

"Then we will go on as before. Only be as cautious in stepping as possible, and don't press too close upon me."

Fred reëntered the path and glided on in advance. He felt extreme anxiety as to the probable result of the venture, now that he knew foes were both before and behind.

He was also anxious regarding the result of John Stevens' errand. If he had been delayed, or had any thing happened to prevent his gaining the cabin, matters would be gloomy indeed.

Dusky Dick was evidently up to mischief, and as he was not with Sloan Young, what more likely than that he would pay a visit to the Wilson cabin? Should he do so, and find the inmates unsuspicious of their danger, an easy victory would be his. No wonder the young settler felt worried.

And then he abruptly paused, with a slight exclamation of dismay. Before him he could distinguish the fast widening trace of a conflagration; the sky was rapidly reddening with what he knew must be the glare of a burning cabin—and that cabin none other than his own!

"See! the devils are at work!" he hissed, in a strained and unnatural voice, as his companions drew nearer. "It is our cabin on fire!"

The little party stood in mute anxiety. Their eyes roved from one face to another. A terrible fear was upon them.

They could just distinguish the sound of shrill yells, as of Indians, borne to their ears by the favoring breeze. It sounded like the death-knell to all their hopes.

"What will you do now, Fred?" asked Stevens, breaking the painful silence.

"I must go ahead and see what that means. If John has been delayed by any thing, I fear the worst—all is lost. And it looks that way, for I hear no shooting."

"Will it be safe?"

"Not for the rest of you. You must stay here until I can find out how the ground lies. It would be worse than folly to go forward now, not knowing who we may meet. Come out here—it will be safer. So if any red-skins chance along the Trace, they will not discover you, if you are anyways careful."

Fred did not pause for a reply, but led the way out a few yards from the trail. Then he bade the fugitives crouch down amid the underbrush and await his return, which would be as speedy as possible.

"Would it not be better for us to keep right on toward the settlements? It seems dangerous to waste time waiting here, like this."

"No, it would never do. You would only lose your way, if indeed you did not run into some ambush. You must stay here until I come back. It is the best you can do, now."

"But hasten, then," and the settler composed himself to await the result with such patience as he could summon.

As Fred glided noiselessly away through the gloom, a chill fell upon the spirits of the little party, that seemed a premonition of coming danger. Stevens started to his feet, intending to venture all, rather than remain there in suspense, but the women finally persuaded him to abide by the decision of the young ranger, whose experience in such matters was far the greatest.

To increase their anxiety, they now perceived the glow that marked the destruction of their own home. The circle of death seemed narrowing around them with each passing moment, and the suspense was absolutely killing. Any thing, however bad, seemed preferable to this torture.

The minutes rolled on, each one seeming like an hour of ordinary time, and still no signs of Fred's return. Then came a rifle-shot from some point not far distant—a wild yell, followed by the loud crashing of what seemed horses' hoofs, passing through the forest at headlong speed. Tremblingly the three fugitives awaited the result, fearing to move from their covert.

The glowing beacons upon either hand of them, grew more faint as the moments passed on, and then were entirely shut out from view by the gathering clouds, and the thickly clustering tree-tops.

And still no sign of Fred's return. Stevens could stand the suspense no longer, but arose to his feet, saying:

"I will wait no longer. Something must have happened, or he would have been back long ago. It is throwing away our only chance by stopping here. Come, let us go."

"But Fred said"—uttered Jennie, falteringly.

"I know that, but something must have happened to hinder his coming back. If we stay here, we will only be smelled out and killed by these murdering red-skins. Come on," decisively added Stevens, as he moved away from the spot.

The women well knew that all resistance would be in vain, and arose to obey.

Stevens did not think it prudent to travel in the beaten Trace, lest he should meet some of the enemy, and so kept along through the forest, using such skill as he was possessed of, to proceed silently.

But the danger foreseen by Fred, proved well founded. In the very outset the borderer went astray. He had lost his bearings, and instead of proceeding toward the lower settlements, he was pursuing an almost directly opposite direction, or nearly toward his own cabin—or where that had previously stood.

In evading the tree-trunks and clumps of bushes, he deviated from a direct course, now bearing to the right, now left, until he almost struck the beaten trail they had lately traversed, when led by Fred Wilson. And then Stevens ran headlong into the very danger he was most anxious to avoid.

The settler came first, then his wife, and after her, Jennie. The dress of the latter caught upon a root, and she paused to loosen it; a fact that probably saved her life.

For just then a wild yell rung out from close before Stevens, accompanied by a sharp crack and broad glare that lighted up the scene for a moment, with startling vividness. By it the settler saw the dusky figures of some half-score savages, and with impulse of the moment, he threw up his rifle, firing at the foremost one.

A thrilling death-yell that followed told that his shot had not been spent in vain, but then a return volley rung out, and he staggered back, wounded unto death. He stumbled over the prostrate form of his wife, whom the first shot had stricken down, but recovered himself as the enemy sprung forward with exultant whoops and yells.

For a brief moment the settler battled with frantic fury, but all was in vain. The bullet that first struck him had reached the seat of life, and then a knife pierced his side. Still defiant, he sunk down, with a hoarse cry, upon the body of his murdered wife. And over them raged the red-skins, fighting for the coveted scalps like demons incarnate.

Jennie was sheltered by the intervening tree-trunk, and although more than one bullet shattered the rough bark, she was unharmed. Terror held her enchained to the spot, despite herself.

Then she heard the dying cry of her father, and knew that all was lost. With a low cry of agony she turned and fled through the forest, half dead with horror.

The red-skins scrambling for the coveted trophies, heard her not, but one other ear did; that of Sloan Young, and divining the truth, he sprung forward after the fleeing girl, and knew that the coveted prize he feared was lost, was now just within his grasp. He gave vent to a long, loud yell of diabolical exultation.

But Jennie's feet seemed gifted with more than mortal speed, and she fled over the rough ground, through the bushes and tangled shrubbery, fully holding her vantage-ground, hard as the half-breed strove to overtake her. Uttering furious curses, he dashed madly on—to his death!

Jennie sped on, blindly, half unconsciously. A horrible sound filled her ears—the death-cry of her father—the gasping groan of her murdered mother. She knew not her own danger; she only felt some frightful danger was driving her on, she knew not whither.

She sped on past a dark, crouching form, and then felt, rather than saw, another figure rise up before her. With a low gasping moan she sunk unresistingly into the outstretched arms; her senses fled and she fainted.

The half-breed also heard the cry and answered it with one of exultant triumph, for he believed that the fugitive must soon drop from exhaustion, when she would become an easy prey to him. But he was doomed to a bitter disappointment.

He noted the abrupt cessation of Jennie's footsteps, and tricky himself, he suspected some ruse upon her part; most probably an attempt at doubling upon him. To defeat this he paused and listened intently.

He saw a dark figure rise up almost within arm's length of him, and believing it to be his intended victim, he sprung forward with outstretched hands, crying:

"You may as well gi' up, my dear—"

Thus far he spoke, and no further. For a strong hand clutched his throat, and as the tall form towered above him, the gleam of a descending knife-blade filled his eyes. The half-breed made one desperate effort to free himself; he was not given time for more.

But he was held like a child, and then the keen knife hissed down—then with a horrible thud, the hilt fairly struck against his chest. The long blade had cloven his heart in twain.

Still he made a desperate effort—his death-throe, it was—and freed his throat from the vise-like grip fastened upon it. A single wild yell broke from his lips, and then he sunk a lifeless weight in the arms of his conqueror, a corpse.

Still the alarm was given, and that last cry bade fair to avenge its author's death. For it had reached the ears of the still scuffling savages, and awoke them to their folly.

They recognized the voice of their leader, and one of them had placed the sound; and he quickly communicated it to his comrades. Then with shrill yells of anger they sprung forward, eager to assist or avenge their chief, as the case might be.

"Put the gal down, Jack," muttered Tobe Castor—for it was indeed him—speaking in a quick tone. "The imps is a comin' hot fut. Let the women hunker down cluss ahind the log. It's fight now, an' we'll hev our hands full 'thout them!"

The trio—Castor, Wilson and Stevens—drew together, the better to meet the shock they knew must soon come. They could not avoid it by flight; that course would be certain destruction, as they well knew.

The three women had been placed in a clump of bushes bordering and overhanging a large fallen tree and against this, on the opposite side, the men backed, as by it they secured themselves from being assailed upon all sides at the same time. Tobe again spoke:

"Fire as I do, an' then drap down on yer faces. Ef they shoot at the bleeze, thet'll mebbe save us. Then do the best you know how, with cold steel an' clubbed rifles, ef so be they make a rush."

There was no time for further instructions, if such had been needed. But the others knew what lay before them well enough. They knew it would probably result in a hand-to-hand combat, that could scarcely end otherwise than in their destruction. And yet they did not flinch. They had dear and helpless ones to fight for, as well as their own lives.

The yelling red-skins came on at full speed, until within a short distance of the borderers, when they abruptly paused; the ominous stillness awed them. They could not comprehend it.

One Eye did not answer; then he must be dead. Nothing could be heard of his slayer or slayers. Therefore they could not have fled, or the sound of their footsteps would have been heard. And would they have remained here, unless in strong force, sufficient to successfully resist the braves of the dead half-breed?

But then the more impatient of the Sioux, excited by the slight taste of blood they had in the death of the two fugitives, gave a cry and sprung forward. The rest followed, in a compact mass; a fatal move upon their part.

The three men standing beside the fallen tree could now faintly distinguish the enemy, as they surmounted a slight knoll. Knowing the advantage of a first blow, Castor leveled his rifle, the action being closely imitated by his comrades, and then fired.

The three reports sounded almost as one, and carried death and dismay into the ranks of the Sioux. The horrible death-yells and groans of agony told how fatal had been the discharge, and, as with one impulse, the survivors broke and fled, without firing one shot.

But this panic was only momentary. Then they rallied, and proceeded to concert some plan for the revenge the blood of their fallen comrades demanded at their hands.

The three borderers dropped to the ground, as agreed upon, but this precaution was needless, as we have already seen. Then they began hurriedly re-charging their weapons, full well knowing there would be further need of them, ere the affair was over.

"They are driven back—why not take the women and slip away?" whispered Wilson, cautiously, he being nearest to Tobe.

"Don't be a fool, Ed—don't, fer marcy's sake. They'd hear us, an' then we'd be in a nice fix—I guess not. Thet's jest what they want the most. They don't know how we're fixed now, and 'll fight shy fer a time. No, we must stick it out here—fer a time, anyhow."

Their weapons recharged, the three men crouched down in anxious waiting. Especially was John Stevens troubled.

He feared the worst. He had found Jennie, his sister, fleeing from a spot where had been going on a desperate fight for life. But where were the others? his father and mother? Were they dead, or also fugitives in the forest?

That was a query he feared to answer, but something down in his heart told him that a great calamity had occurred: that he was now parentless. Still, there was a faint hope. Jennie had escaped with life; then might not the others have fared equally as well?

Fortunately he had something to distract his thoughts, in a measure. Otherwise he would have gone mad. But now he must bear up for the sake of his sister—his loved one and her friends. They were in imminent peril, and upon his arms partly depended their hopes of preservation.

The groans of the dying wretches had ceased, and all was once more still in the forest. Even the insects had seemed to cease their humming, and the faint breeze to die utterly away. The stillness was awful—depressing in the extreme.

For despite this seeming peacefulness, they well knew that bloodthirsty and unscrupulous foes were busily compassing their destruction. They knew that some subtle plot was being concocted by the savages, who would be fairly wild with rage and thirst for revenge. This suspense was harder to bear than the deadliest strife would have been, for while they knew their peril was imminent, they knew not in which direction it would first appear, nor the shape it would assume.

But they had not long to wait for the knowledge. A faint rustling sound at some little distance first met their vigilant ears, although no human form could be seen. This for a time puzzled them, as the sound appeared confined to a circumscribed space, near the little knoll upon which the Indians had stood when the fatal volley was discharged at them.

Then this rustling ceased, and another sound took its place. Castor uttered a grunt of dismay, as though he comprehended the meaning of this. Wilson whispered:

"What is it, Tobe?"

"Wait an' you'll see soon a plenty. Cuss the pesky imps!" and the old scout fairly ground his teeth with intense ire.

And in the course of a few moments they did see, sure enough. A faint, flickering glow—not a blaze, at least visible to them—shone forth upon the knoll, only a few yards distant from its crest. At this moment, Stevens and Wilson divined the truth, as Castor had already done.

The Indians were building a fire!

Their object in thus doing was plain. They felt assured their enemy had not fled, and by this light they counted upon discovering their covert, without serious risk to themselves.

"Cuss the imp!" hissed Castor, wrathfully. "He's hid behind a rock or log or somethin' else, or I'd soon sicken the dog, fer good. But we must git out o' here, jest the quickest!"

"But how? Surely they wouldn't leave a path open for us? They must have surrounded us, to guard against any move like that," muttered Wilson.

"I know thet—I ain't sech a pesky fool as to make a run fer it, yit. But ef we stay here tell thet light bleezes up—as 'twill shortly—we're gone suckers, fer shore! But we must git over the log, here. Thar's a big fork in it, whar we kin hunker down, an' hev the bushes fer kiver, too. Then they cain't rout us out 'thout makin' a rush fer it; which they won't be apt to do afore day, anyhow. So up with ye, one at a time, an' git the wimmen onder kiver."

"You go first—if you know where the fork is."

"I'd orter know—seein's as how I durned nigh broke my neck over the pesky thing a-tumblin' down whar we run up, a bit ago. But when you come, don't make no n'ise, 'less you'll hev a load o' lead in your karkidge as 'll be mighty onhandy to kerry about."

So speaking, the old scout cautiously rose up and crawled upon the log. The fire was now blazing up quite briskly, and already casting out a circle of light that nearly reached the tree-trunk. There was no time to be lost.

Jennie was still half-senseless, and, stooping, the old scout gently raised her in his arms, and, in a low, guarded whisper, bade the other two women follow him. Though trembling with apprehension, they obeyed, without a word.

Castor glided through the bushes, along the log for a few paces, and then pausing, lowered Jennie to the ground. It was a narrow space between two forks of the tree, that were here some two feet in thickness, while over and around them, grew a dense fringe of bushes and vines.

There was ample room for the entire party, and while hidden from the enemies' view, by lying down, they were protected in a great measure from any bullets that might be discharged into their covert. Upon this fact Tobe had counted when he determined to remove from the spot rendered untenable by the rapidly-increasing light of the fire.

The women safe placed, Castor turned and whispered to his comrades. Wilson was already over the log, and Stevens speedily followed his example. Then they sought the new refuge, where they knelt down with senses upon the keen alert, and rifles ready for use.

"You wimmen keep cluss," continued Castor. "Them pesky reds is mighty keerless, sometimes, an' one o' thar bullits mought chaince to hit ye. Hurt, too, they would; bet yer life they do!"

"What do you think they will do now?" anxiously queried Wilson.

"Don't know. Tell you better a'ter a bit. But then you'll know jest as soon's I will, come to think o' it. Hist! jes' lis'en to thet!"

This exclamation was drawn forth by a series of sounds that suddenly broke the stillness of the forest. They seemed to come from every point of the compass, forming a terribly-significant concert, when the listeners so well knew the true performers.

The faint howling as of wolves; the whistle of the night-hawk; the chirp of the tree-toad or ground squirrel; the mournful cry of the rain-crow—with still other sounds, came from the forest depths, telling the fugitives that their foes were upon the alert—that they were surrounded by a cordon of bloodthirsty and cunning enemies, whose every power would be strenuously exerted to wreak a fearful vengeance upon the slayers of their fallen comrades.

The fire blazed higher and more brightly, casting a flood of light over all surrounding objects, plainly revealing the long log, behind which crouched the fugitives. But still, not a trace of the savages could be seen, though keen and practiced eyes swept every foot of the ground revealed.

Then the signals abruptly ceased, and even the fire appeared to burn without noise. A stillness as of death swept over the forest. The moment of action was evidently nigh at hand.

"Keep your eyes peeled, boys," muttered Tobe Castor, as his teeth clenched and his eyes glittered with a strange glow. "They know jest about whar we be, an' 'll show thar hands 'fore long. Plug the fust varmint as you kin draw a bead on, but don't waste 'ary shot."

It was evident that the savages had determined upon the position of the fugitives, but then a wide stretch was given them, for the log was some fifty or sixty feet in length, the entire body of it fringed with bushes, any point along it sufficiently dense for the fugitives to hide in. This fact alone kept the Indians from making a desperate onset at once.

Then a rifle-shot rung out from the gloom beyond the broad circle of light. The bullet sunk with a dull thud into the decayed log, some feet from the fugitives.

Another and another rung forth, from different points of the compass, but still not a cry or a sound came to tell the Indians of the exact spot occupied by their intended victims. One of the bullets tore its way through the cheek of Tobe Castor, but he did not flinch or move, save to brush the hot blood from his eyes.

Then a series of cries ran along the cordon of dusky warriors. Its meaning was comprehended by the old scout, who muttered:

"It's comin' in airnest, now, boys! Pick yer game an' drap it. Then load up, ef you hev time."

The words still hissed upon his lips, when a wild whoop resounded from every side of their position; and then a number of dusky figures appeared in view. But they did not advance boldly; instead, they sprung from side to side, yelling frightfully and brandishing their weapons in the air above their heads.

Castor was too wise a veteran to be fooled in the manner they evidently counted upon. His hands checked the less experienced men, whose eyes were already glancing along their rifle-barrels.

"Don't shoot—fer yer lives don't shoot yit!" he hissed, warningly. "They on'y want to find out whar we be. Don't ye see? Wait ontil they make a gineral rush."

His prudence was soon confirmed, for like magic the yelling crowd and the dim, phantom-like figures disappeared as though they had sunk into the ground. Evidently the red-skins were puzzled, knowing now that either their prey had fled, or else were far more cunning then they had given them credit for.

Thus another half-hour expired, and still no direct assault was made, although an occasional shot was discharged into the bush-screened log. An overruling Providence seemed to shield the fugitives, for as yet, the crease upon Tobe Castor's cheek was the only wound the party had received, though more than once the hissing missiles had passed so close that their venomous whistle could be distinguished by the besieged.

Then Tobe gave a faint hiss. His comrades gazed in the direction his finger pointed, and they beheld a faint, shadowy figure upon the ground, at only a few yards' distance. Under other circumstances this would hardly have been noticed, or if so, would have been thought a mere shadow; but now, with his senses sharpened by peril, Castor knew that it was the form of an Indian, who was crawling up toward them, evidently with the intention of learning their exact position; a sort of forlorn hope, in which he risked his life to benefit his comrades and work the ruin of his foes.

"Leave the imp to me," muttered Tobe; "keep a good look-out on your side fer more o' the same sort. Don't let 'em fool ye!"

CHAPTER VIII.

A STROKE FOR VENGEANCE.

With painfully throbbing heart, Fred Wilson left his companions and hastened along the narrow Trace toward the blazing cabin, to learn the fate of his family. He dreaded the worst, for a strange sensation of coming evil weighed heavily upon his mind.

He was not given to superstition or a belief in omens, but now it seemed as though the spirit of some loved one was hovering around him. A firm belief assailed him that he was doomed to suffer some deep and bitter loss.

And in vain he strove to cast this thought aside; it would return despite himself. And from a fancy, it became a settled conviction.

Still it did not prevent him from displaying his usual caution and skill, and he glided along the path, dark and gloomy though the woods were, with almost the certainty and ease he would have displayed in broad daylight. Only at times could he distinguish the reddish glow of the blazing cabin; at others the densely clustering boughs concealed it from his vision.

In this manner he had proceeded over half a mile, when he fancied he heard the faint sound of cautious footfalls before him. Instantly pausing, he bent his ear to the ground. He was not deceived; some person or persons were coming toward him.

With a wild hope in his heart, the young scout softly drew to one side of the Trace, and crouched down beside the trunk of a large tree, in such a position that the passers-by, whoever they might chance to be, would be momently outlined against a rift in the tree-tops beyond.

The catlike footfalls came nearer, and then the travelers passed before him. In the first one he recognized an Indian. He could just distinguish the nodding plumes upon his head.

And then the next one he noticed was the same. But he had, unfortunately, looked one moment too long upon the first passer. By so doing, he only caught a faint glimpse of the second. The last he saw more closely.

There were only three in number, and he believed them all Indians. Had he known the truth, the entire course of the after events of that memorable night would have been changed; perhaps for the better.

For had he known that his friend, John Stevens, was of the number, he would have dared all to rescue him, and thus learn definitely how the young settler's mission had terminated. But he was not aware of this, and so suffered them to pass by, unchallenged.

Fred then arose and pressed rapidly on, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. This party were coming direct from the burning building; then what was he fated to find there? All was still in that direction. Was the tragedy over?

And then the young man paused upon the edge of the clearing. With wildly-beating heart, he gazed out upon the scene of destruction that lay before him.

The cabin was one mass of glowing coals, though as yet the walls were standing. And though his eyes roved keenly around upon the smooth ground before the building, the dreaded sight met not his gaze. He had feared he would behold the dead and mangled corses of his family lying there, weltering in their blood.

But, as we know, this sight did not greet his eyes, and he derived some faint consolation from it. All might not yet be lost.

And with these thoughts, he began cautiously circling around the clearing, too wise to venture within the broad circle of light, while ignorant whether there might not be a score of his enemies lurking near, watching for some other unwary victim.

He had gained a position nearly opposite the point where he had first stood, when he received an evidence of the prudence of his caution. A tall, dark form emerged from the shadows near the mouth of the Trace, and then strode rapidly toward the building.

Just then the walls fell in with a loud jar, and as the sparks ascended skyward in a dense cloud, the blaze burst out afresh, and cast a still more brilliant light over the scene. By its aid, Fred could see that the new-comer was an Indian, and an angry glow filled his heart, as he reflected that this same savage might have been an active agent in the death of his family. For the young man still believed that he would find them dead. In no other way could he account for the strange depression that weighed upon his spirits.

And he resolved that this one, at least, should never live to boast of his bloody deeds. He should die, and by his hand. And then he set about compassing this end.

In this point again Fortune seemed favoring him. The red-skin stood motionless for a moment, his eyes roving keenly around the clearing; then his tall form stooped, and he glided to and fro, evidently searching for some sign.

Fred waited in eager anticipation for a moment more favorable than this, although the range was short, and he could easily have picked off the savage with his rifle. But this was a move he did not fancy, as he did not know how many red-skins might be within hearing, and with the lives of others partly depending upon him, Fred dared not run the risk of a shot. The blow must be dealt with cold steel, if at all.

The red-skin ceased his zig-zag movements, and now proceeded in a direct line. Fred knew that he was following some trail, and to his stern delight, found that trail led the Indian toward the Lower Trace.

With sternly-compressed lips and eyes glowing with a strange light, the young scout glided rapidly toward the point where the Trace began, a long, keen knife firmly clenched in his hand. He was none too soon, for scarcely had he crouched behind a tree-trunk, than the Indian entered the bushes, his head still bowed toward the ground.

Then he paused, with a slight grunt, as of disappointment. It was none other than the petty chief who had been with One Eye, or Sloan Young, and who had started off to put Dusky Dick upon the watch when it was found the Stevens family had fled.

Fred Wilson collected his energies and sprung upon the unprepared red-skin, knife in hand. Ere the assailed could lift a finger in self-defense, the keen weapon hissed through the air and then buried itself, with a peculiar thud, deep in his broad chest.

A low, gurgling cry arose to his lips, but then died away with the gush of blood that filled his throat. Then, as the knife was withdrawn, the tall form, so lately full of life and strength, tottered and sunk to the ground, a lump of lifeless clay.

"You are the first one—but will not be the last, by many more!" muttered the young scout, with a terrible depth of hatred and revenge in his tones, as he stooped over the dead man and adroitly removed his scalp.

Then he suddenly sprung erect. A significant sound met his ear. A rifle-shot—an Indian yell, at no very great distance.

It apparently proceeded from near the spot where he had left the Stevens family, and Fred feared they had been discovered by the Sioux. He could do no good by remaining here, as there were no traces of his family, and he resolved to return at once, though fearing it would be too late.

The young scout was not one to hesitate, when once his mind was made up, and securing the gory scalp to his waist, he entered the forest once more, gliding with speedy footsteps toward the point where he had left his friends in hiding. Still, despite his rapid progress, he was too late.

As he neared the covert, he uttered the signal agreed upon, but without an answer. Then he crept forward to the clump of bushes. He parted them and peered inside. They were untenanted by those whom he sought.

Fred stood in angry disappointment, not unmingled with apprehension. He did not know whether Stevens had disobeyed his strict injunctions, and ventured forth in an attempt to escape unaided, or whether he had been surprised and taken prisoner, and he dared not strike a light to discover, lest it should prove a beacon to guide a treacherous bullet or arrow to his life.

Then, as he stood there, another sound met his ear; one similar to that which had drawn him from the clearing, only louder and more protracted. Two single rifle-shots and then what seemed a united volley, accompanied by wild yells and whoops.

There could be no mistaking this. He knew that one party, at least, of his friends had been attacked by the Indians; most likely those whom he had taken under his own charge.

He did not hesitate, only long enough to determine the direction and probable distance of the strife from where he stood, and then pressed forward toward it, with as much speed as was consistent with safety. And now he displayed in an astonishing degree, the skill he had attained, thanks to the instructions of Tobe Castor.

He glided through the forest at a half-run, with apparently as much ease and celerity as though the intense gloom was replaced by broad daylight, seeming to avoid the tree-trunks and other obstacles by intuition. And his footfalls made scarcely more noise than those of the deer, traversing its course with unhasted steps.

Fred could still distinguish the faint sound of yells and cries, as though the strife still continued, though there were no more rifle-shots. This fact puzzled him not a little, though he did not slacken his pace.

Then the yells seemed to shift places, continuing only for a few moments; then dying entirely away. Then again came the loud reports of firearms, with shrill howls of anguish and terror. The plot was becoming somewhat tangled and complicated, and Fred's wonder increased.

Still he proceeded, though more deliberately, for under the circumstances he thought prudence was the wisest course for him to follow. Then he uttered a little exclamation as his foot struck against something yielding. There could be no mistaking this peculiar touch; he knew that he was standing over a corpse!

A convulsive shudder ran through his frame as he leaped back apace; but then he conquered this involuntary repugnance, and advancing, stooped over the form. Eyesight could avail him nothing here; the sense of feeling alone must be depended upon.

His hand touched the body, and a thrill pervaded his form as his fingers rested upon a soft, slimy substance. He knew it was blood, fast coagulating. Then a glad hope filled his heart as his hand encountered the smooth-shaven crown, with the long scalp-lock of an Indian. Perhaps his friends had not perished, after all!

He slowly moved away from the corpse, feeling along the ground with his feet, but for some moments, felt in vain. Then he again touched something that he knew was another victim.

Stooping, his hand rested upon the unmistakable dress of a white man. Gliding up the body, he then felt of the face. The long heavy beard there confirmed his suspicions. He felt assured that the dead body of Wesley Stevens lay before him.

And then a low cry of agonizing horror broke from his lips, as he touched a woman's dress. He staggered back and sunk to the ground, trembling and unnerved. He feared the worst. He dreaded to move, lest he should find the dead and mangled corse of his loved one—of sweet Jennie Stevens.

But then with an effort he aroused himself, and without a thought for the danger he might thus incur, he struck a match and bent over the forms of the ill-fated fugitives. By its faint flickering rays, he recognized the father and mother; the light also showed him the bare and gory skulls where the scalps had been ruthlessly torn away.

He only saw this much, when the match burned to his finger tips and then expired. Tremblingly he essayed to light another, but he was too greatly unnerved. He sunk down upon the blood-stained ground and covered his eyes as though he would shut out the horrible vision that filled his brain.

It was a moment of frightful torture, and it seemed as though he would go mad. He believed that the dear one, whom he loved better than his own life, was lying near at hand, dead—murdered like her parents.

But then with an effort he aroused up. Though sick at heart, his hands were steady as he struck another match. He had nerved himself to bear the worst, now.

The light cast a faint glow around, but the dreaded sight did not meet his staring eyes. As he strode around the spot hope sprung up in his heart, once more.

A whip-like report broke the stillness of the air, so close that Fred started back and dropped the match, believing that he had been the target. But then he beheld his mistake, as another and yet another shot rung out at some little distance to his left. He also heard shrill yells, that he knew could only proceed from the throats of red-skins.

His eyes flashed instinctively and he clutched his rifle with a firm grip. He remembered now the second series of shots and yells he had heard; these were probably a continuation of those. If so, then the savages who had slain his friends were yet at hand, and if Jennie was taken a prisoner, she must be there also.

If so, perhaps he could effect her rescue now. But then who could be the ones at whom the shots were fired? His family? Fred uttered a low cry of eager hope as this idea flashed across his mind.

The young scout listened for a moment, and then glided forward in the direction from whence came the sounds. Scarcely had he made the first step, when the cries died away. But still advancing, Fred soon caught a glimpse of a bright light before him.

More cautiously he crept on, every sense upon the keen alert, until he paused beside a huge tree whose butt was surrounded by a dense growth of bushes, and then gazed out upon the scene. He beheld a huge bonfire, blazing upon a slight knoll. But not a living figure was in sight.

Then as he gazed, a dark figure glided between him and the fire; the light shining brightly, revealed the features of an Indian. Then, like, a shadow, this melted away. The stillness began to be oppressive, and Fred could scarcely comprehend the drama that was being enacted before him.

Leaving the tree, he glided stealthily along through the gloom, intending to incircle the bonfire, and discover, if possible, who were attacked by the Indians. He knew there were enemies close about him, and he brought his keenest powers into play, making scarcely more noise than would have done a serpent.

He had gone but a few yards, when he heard a slight rustling a little to one side, and, pausing, he speedily distinguished the form of a man, evidently a red-skin. It seemed as though he must be discovered, and Fred drew his limbs together for the emergency; but the savage brushed past him, almost close enough for their extended arms to have met. If he saw the dusky figure of the young scout, he evidently mistook it for one of his own comrades.

With a long-drawn breath of relief, Fred passed on, his eyes roving keenly in every direction. Keeping at a certain distance from the fire, he had covered nearly one-fourth of the distance necessary for a complete circuit, when a new peril threatened him; one that he did not see in time to avoid.

He noted the form of an Indian coming toward him, just without the circle of light. Anxiously he watched the movements of this foe. He could not retreat, as that would only subject him to suspicion, and the red-man was so close that the slightest movement would be heard.

And yet the savage was coming directly toward him. Fred crouched lower and drew his knife partly from its sheath. He had not time for more, when the savage paused directly beside him, his eyes bent upon a long line of bushes at but a few paces distance. Then he spoke in a low tone, using the Sioux dialect.

"Gray Bull is creeping up to find the pale-faces. Let my brother keep his rifle ready to shoot them as they spring up."

Fred did not reply, lest his voice should betray him, but he stealthily drew his knife from its sheath. Then the savage turned toward him, in evident surprise at not being answered.

The fire blazed up afresh, as the topmost sticks broke and fell down. A ray of light penetrated the bushes, and fell fairly athwart the pale features of the scout and those of his copper-tinted companion.

Fred beheld the wondering look—the quick change that told of recognition, and knew that only the promptest action could preserve his life. His left hand shot out and clutched the throat of the red-skin, and then the keen knife hissed through the air.

But with a sudden start back, the Indian freed his throat in time to utter a wild yell of alarm, ere the weapon drank his life's blood. Then for a brief moment all was still.

Then a single rifle-shot rung out, and Fred felt the bullet crease his neck. He knew that he was discovered and leaping to his feet he leveled his rifle at an advancing Indian and fired. Then with a hoarse, defiant shout, mingled with a death-yell from the stricken savage, he turned and fled from the spot.

A frightful tumult arose, and the woods echoed with the swift, heavy tramp of the Sioux as they dashed in hot pursuit after their daring foe.

CHAPTER IX.

OUT OF THE TRAP.

Tobe Castor keenly watched the slowly approaching red-skin. He could long since have disposed of him by a rifle-shot, had he felt so inclined; but that he did not choose to do. If he did, then the main object of the savages would be accomplished. Once given the exact position of the pale-faces, such a storm of bullets would be poured in upon them that death would be inevitable.

The old scout had decided upon a plan of action that he believed might work, though the chances were greatly against it. He saw that the red-skin would strike the bushes, if he maintained the course he had begun, at only a few feet from where crouched the fugitives.

The bushes, interlaced with vines and creepers, were very dense, and a person standing close upon the outside could not perceive those within, by night, unless he first parted the screen. This was what the savage would have to do, in case he accomplished his object.

Castor hoped to be able to quiet this dangerous customer with the knife, and so quietly that those who were watching his progress, would still be at a loss as to their exact whereabouts. It would be difficult, though he believed it could be done.

Warning his comrades by a gesture to remain perfectly quiet, the old scout moved along by slow degrees so as to intercept the savage. When the point was gained directly in front of the creeping figure, Castor paused and prepared his knife for use.

But the trial was not yet to come. A strange and unexpected interruption came and afforded the besieged a respite, none the less welcome, because unlooked for.

There resounded a hoarse, gurgling yell—a rifle-shot—another; and then the defiant shout in the unmistakable voice of a white man. Following, came wild cries and whoops from the red-skins.

It was indeed the discovery of the young scout, Fred Wilson, although his friends did not know it. And a most fortunate occurrence it proved to be, at least for them.

The savages were bewildered and knew not what to make of the affair. But then all seemed clear.

The strange silence of the pale-faces was now explained. They no longer wondered that no reply had come from the bush-screened log, when they had so plentifully bestowed their leaden favors upon it. They had been upon a false scent, all the time. The hated pale-faces were not there, but had given them the slip, and but for a fortunate discovery would have crept entirely away and left them in the lurch.

Much in this manner the Sioux reasoned, and then with their thrilling war-whoop, they bounded after the fleeing scout, eager for his scalp, though they believed it was the entire party instead of only one. Their own footfalls prevented them from learning their mistake, by the tramp of the fugitive.

The red-skin who had acted on the "forlorn hope" also sprung up and dashed away to join the pursuit. Others dashed by, while the concealed fugitives held their breath at this strange proceeding.

Castor turned and glided back to join his companions. He was as greatly puzzled as were the others.

"What is it, Tobe? I thought that sounded like Fred's voice," whispered Wilson.

"I didn't notice—but the last shot favored his gun mightily. Could it be him?"

"Mayn't it be a trick of theirs to get us to show ourselves?" suggested John Stevens.

"It mought—but I sca'cely think it. You see, too many o' them went. An' they're kerryin' it too fur. Lis'en—you kin hear 'em a-screechin' 'way off thar yit," and Tobe harkened intently.

"What shall we do? Stay here, or try to slip off?"

"Jest as you think best. I b'lieve our plan is to travel. It may be a trick, an' ef so, we're gone, shore. Ef not, we stand a show. Anyhow, ef we stay here ontel day, they'll hev us then, easy. But jest as you say—on'y be quick 'bout it, 'ca'se thar's no time to waste."

"I think we had better risk it," added Wilson, resolutely.

"All right, then. Here goes. I'll show up fust, an' ef they don't plug me, do you foller. Step as though you was a-walkin' on sleepin' rattlers, an' don't make no fuss. Ready?"

A murmur gave assent, and then Tobe emerged from his covert, crouching low down in the shade cast by the bushes, and gliding off from the fire. Not a sound betrayed the presence of any enemy, and the others ventured forth, using the same precautions that their leader had taken.

They proceeded thus for full hundred yards, when Castor halted them. They paused in momentary alarm, but his first words banished their apprehensions.

"It's all right yit. I on'y wanted to tell you what we must do. We'll have to take to the hosses, ef the imps hain't found them, or they hain't broken loose. Then we kin 'ither take the Trace, or cut through the woods, jest's you think best."

"We leave it all to you. But it's dangerous stopping here so close. Some of those devils may come back and stumble upon us."

"The more haste the wuss speed, you know. You must wait here ontil I go an see if the animiles is safe. They may hev found 'em an' left a guard thar to cut us off ef we tried to git to 'em. You wait here ontel you hear me whistle; then come on as quiet as you kin."

With these words Castor glided away in the darkness, leaving the little party to uneasily await the result of his scout. But a few moments of suspense were they forced to endure; then came the welcome whistle, and with glad hearts they pressed forward. In a few moments more they were beside the horses, that still stood as they had been left.

It will be remembered that the Wilson party were yet consulting as to the best course for them to pursue, at the point where Castor had left the husband and wife, while he sought for the missing Annie, when the uproar attending the attack upon the Stevens family broke upon their hearing. Suspecting the truth, the party had left the horses as they were hitched, and rushed forward toward the spot, hoping to be enabled to assist their friends. Thus it is that we find them once more in possession of their animals.

"Now here's four critters, an' thar's six o' us. Let the wimmen an' Ed ride—he's the least able to stand a ja'nt afoot. Up with ye—no talkin', Ed. Ef so be't any one o' us two gits tuckered out, we'll change 'th you."

In another score of moments the little party were ready for a start. Tobe Castor led the way, then the horses, and after them came John Stevens.

By mutual consent the old scout was allowed to direct their course, and he chose to proceed, for some time at least, through the forest as being safer than treading in the beaten Trace. He knew that along it had hastened Dusky Dick and his gang of cut-throats, and felt assured that they would soon discover the ruse by which they had been deceived, and thus would naturally turn back to find where they had lost the trail. By following the Trace, there would be danger of meeting him.

It was tedious traveling, but it was the road to safety, and the fugitives bore their hardships with as good a grace as possible. The spirits of all were gloomy enough, but the hearts of the brother and sister were sore indeed.

Jennie had told her story, and they knew their parents were both dead. The blow was a bitter one, and only for the absolute necessity for their restraining their feelings, in order to preserve their own lives, both of them would have given way beneath it.

And thus the night wore on. The forest was traversed and left behind the fugitives, who had placed a full score of miles behind them ere the light of day came over the western hills.

The eyes of the old scout, who was some yards ahead of the party, roved keenly and anxiously over the country, searching for what he hoped not to find; some trace of their enemies. And for a time he was agreeably disappointed.

They were now in a sort of open prairie, at this point rolling and uneven. Scattered hither and yon were small clumps of trees surrounded with smaller bushes and shrubs. The prairie was covered nearly waist-deep with a coarse grass, thickly mixed with weeds.

To the left of the party, and extending some little distance to their rear, was a line or chain of hills, rocky and bleak-looking. They were not far distant at this point, hardly a mile.

"Do you see any thing, Tobe?" asked Wilson, uneasily, glancing at the guide.

"Yas—a plenty, but nothin' to git skeered at, as I knows on. I don't see ary a red. Reckon we gi' them the dirty shake last night."

"I hope so. But will it be safe to rest a bit? The women need it, and so do the animals. A bite of food will do no harm—though we have no water."

"I don't know but 'twould be best. We must stop some time, an' now 's jest as good a time 's any. Thar at thet motte yander, we'll stop. Thar's a good spring, too. So we'll not go thusty," said Castor, indicating a small clump of timber some few hundred yards before them.

The fugitives were now upon a ridge, whose hight afforded them a fair view of the country, and while Castor spoke, his eyes were keenly scrutinizing the prairie beyond. He suddenly paused, with a cry of angry dismay.

"What is it, Tobe?" cried Stevens, gliding forward.

"Looky yander!—Injuns, by the 'tarnal!" hissed the old ranger, as he extended an arm before him.

Thus directed, the gaze of the party was riveted upon an alarming sight. And as they gazed, their hearts sunk within them, for they saw that Castor was right.

Upon a ridge at perhaps a half-mile distance, could plainly be distinguished a number of footmen, whose wild aspect as their plumed and ornamented crests rose above the tall, still grass, told they were indeed savages. Their number could not be much less than a score; perhaps more.

"Let's get out of sight in the hollow," muttered Stevens as he sprung to the head of Annie's horse. "Quick! before they see us!"

"Too late—too late, boy!" muttered Castor, his glowing eyes sweeping around their position. "D'y' hear that?"

As he spoke, faint, far-away yells of discovery came to their ears, borne upon the light breeze. And then the savages were observed to bound forward toward them, spreading out as if to surround their intended prey.

"Quick! to the timber—it is our only chance now!" shouted Stevens excitedly, as he urged the snorting horse forward.

"Back—hold on, boy," cried Castor, a determined expression resting upon his countenance "'Twon't do—they'd rout us out o' thar in a minnit. We must try somethin' else."

"But what? My God! man, do you intend to stay here and let them murder us all?" almost shrieked Wilson.

"No—follow me. Let the hosses went—don't hold 'em in. Keep up 'th me ef you kill the critters!"

As Tobe spoke, he turned abruptly to the left, and dashed off at full speed. For a moment the others hesitated, but his decisive action overruled their doubts, and they hotly followed in his lead.

It seemed a suicidal course, this one of the old scout's, for he was leaving the friendly motte almost directly behind him, and was speeding over the rolling prairie toward a point where there was nothing to be seen save a bare hillside. And after them came the wildly yelling red-skins, who now seemed confident of their prey, for the thick, tangled weeds impeded the advance of a horse still more than that of a footman.

CHAPTER X.

A DOUBLE CHASE.

Fred Wilson little guessed the good his daring course had accomplished for his friends, or he would not have so bitterly cursed his foolhardy daring in thus running into such a scrape. But the harm was did and he could only strive his best to free himself from the dangerous position it threw him into.

He slung his rifle across his back by the strap appended and thus with his arms free, he dashed on with renewed speed; though the best pace one could maintain there in such dense woods, was comparatively slow. Still it tried one the greater, for a tree-trunk would not be visible until almost run against, and then a quick, active leap was necessary to avoid it.

Fred could hear the rush of many feet behind him, and also the continued signaling of his foes, telling him that a stern race for life and death was to be the result. And almost unconsciously the presentiment that had before assailed him, returned with augmented force.

Still he did not falter or neglect a single precaution by which his case might be aided. His mind was made up to adopt a bold ruse, and now he strained every nerve to its utmost tension in order to gain the necessary vantage ground that would enable him to put this plan into execution.

As he gained the beaten Trace, Wilson turned and dashed down it, although he would thus lose some ground if his pursuers had spread out, as he felt assured they had. But then he could place full confidence in his fleetness of foot, and felt that with a clear road, he could easily regain the ground thus lost.

Along the path he sped until he reached and passed the still-glowing embers of his late home. But when about a half-mile beyond this, he deemed his chance good enough, and pausing beneath a huge tree, he clutched a low limb and adroitly swung himself up into the branches. Here he lay still, striving to quiet his hard and rapid breathing, lest it should betray his hiding.

It was a full minute before the first red-skin passed beneath his perch, and Fred found that he had gained more ground than he had supposed. Not noticing the sudden cessation of his footsteps, the Sioux pressed on at hot speed, little dreaming how narrowly they were missing their intended victim.

For some time after their passing Fred remained motionless, but then he stealthily crept up higher until near the tree-top, where he could remain hidden, even in the daytime, safe from all prying eyes, unless their owner should take a fancy to climb the tree and make a close examination; an occurrence that was not at all likely to take place, as Fred's footprints had, in all probability, been obliterated by those of the running savages.

For full an hour Fred remained there, but then, hearing no sound of his foes, he descended, and struck once more into the woods. He had pondered long and well over his situation, and knowing he could effect nothing for his friends, owing to his ignorance of their whereabouts, he had resolved to set out for the settlements, and, if possible, there raise a force to return and either rescue them, if captured, or avenge their murder, if dead, as he feared they were.

Before the day broke he had gained the open prairie, and then paused in a clump of trees, in order to see if the coast was clear for his further progress, as soon as the sun should arise. To hasten this end, he scaled a tall tree, and from its top-branches, he eagerly scanned the prairie, as well as the dim light would admit.

But until the sun had fairly arisen, his search was useless. Then, however, his heart beat rapidly, and he saw how wise had been his precaution.

At nearly a mile's distance, he could just distinguish the forms of a number of human beings. Keenly observing them, he first saw that they were in the direct Trace, and were approaching him at a rapid pace. Then he perceived that they were Indians.

Fred hastily descended a few feet to where the limbs were thick, and then crouched down, his eyes once more bent fixedly upon the foe. The sun shone full upon them now, and he counted over a score in all.

As they descended into the hollow, he lost sight of them for a moment, but then they reappeared upon the crest, next to the one upon which stood the grove he had sought refuge in. The Trace ran within a few yards of this motte, and the young man began to feel apprehensive as to his own safety.

The savages kept on, and now Fred could distinguish the form and features of a white man; of Dusky Dick, and his teeth grated fiercely together as he felt a stern desire to avenge the supposed destruction of his family upon the renegade. But to do so now would be equivalent to his own death.

Then the party gained the ridge, and paused; some pointing toward the motte where the young man was concealed. As Fred anxiously watched their every motion, he heard them yell wildly, and believed he was discovered.

Throwing forward his rifle-muzzle, he glanced along the barrel. The double sights drew full upon the head of the renegade, and only a slight pressure of the forefinger would have sounded Dusky Dick's death-knell.

But that pressure was not given, for just then the red-skins, led by Dusky Dick, turned and dashed down the hillside, with long, loud yells. In surprise Fred glanced at the further ridge, and a cry of wonder broke from his lips.

He could quite plainly distinguish another party; these unmistakably white. He also noted the flowing drapery of women; three in number. And then the truth burst upon his mind like a revelation.

These were his friends, who had successfully passed through the trials of that eventful night, only to be again confronted by their bitter and relentless enemies, when just upon the verge of safety!

As he beheld them turn and flee, Fred hastily descended from his perch, and then, without thought or reflecting upon the risk he would thus incur, he dashed down the hill after the red-skins. Fortunately for him, the entire thoughts of the Indians were turned upon the fugitives before them, and not a backward glance was given, or else this rash move would probably have resulted fatally for the young ranger. And then they gained the ridge and passed beyond his sight.

Before he also gained the crest, Fred's natural good sense returned, and he proceeded with more circumspection.

He kept tolerably well screened by the tall weeds, while descending, until the savages were once more hidden from view behind a swell; and then he dashed on with the velocity of a race-horse. As he gained the second crest, Fred again paused.

He could still distinguish both parties, and then, as his eyes rested upon the hills beyond, a glad cry broke from his lips, a bright light filled his eyes, and after hesitating for a moment, he turned and dashed at full speed along the back track, his eyes sparkling with a new-born determination.

CHAPTER XI.

AT BAY!

Tobe Castor led the way at a rapid pace, his tall form making some fairly wonderful leaps, doubling up in order to carry his long legs clear of the dense weeds and shrubs. At any other time his queer antics would have provoked a smile from the spectators, but now they were entirely too much concerned about their own safety to indulge in such demonstrations.

Behind them, at less than a half-mile's distance, were a score of bloodthirsty demons, yelling and whooping in eager exultation, as though their hands were already upon the coveted scalps, and all resistance was over. This knowledge, then, was not the most favorable for awakening a sense of the ludicrous, and the only idea his great bounds called forth was a desire to keep pace with him.

More than once the old scout was forced to slacken his pace, so as to avoid distancing the jaded horses, and an uneasy light filled his eyes as he noted how rapidly the savages were coming up with them, lessening the intervening distance with every bound. And yet not more than one-half the distance to the hill had been covered.

"Make haste, Ed—dog-on it, man, put the critters down to it!" he hissed, impatiently, at one of these slackenings. "Use your knife fer a spur."

"Where are you going? They're overtaking us fast!" apprehensively cried the old settler, glancing backward over his shoulder.

"To the hill yander—ef they let us. Use the knife, I tell ye—ef you don't, we're goners!"

Under the impulse of this novel spur, the horses dashed forward with considerably-augmented speed, and now the hills loomed up quite near. But so were the red-skins, who now began sending their compliments after the fugitives, in the shape of sundry leaden bullets, but as the Indians feared to pause in order to secure a good aim, lest the fugitives should thus be able to distance them, there was little to dread save from some random missile.

Tobe Castor then cried out:

"Foller right on through the openin' thar; then turn to your left, right sharp."

As he uttered these words, the old scout dashed ahead at an astonishing rate of speed, and entered a narrow defile or pass, that here cut through the range of hills. As his comrades could see, he turned to the left, as he had directed them to do.

With anxiously-beating hearts, the fugitives dashed through the pass, and then, guided by a loud cry in the voice of their friend, turned to the left and reached the spot where he was standing.

"'Light—quicker'n thunder! You wimmen run into them bushes thar, an' lay close. Ed, you an' Jack stan' by me. We'll sicken the imps fer good, this time!" hurriedly muttered the scout, as he lifted Jennie Stevens from his horse's back; then striking the animal violently with his hand, it dashed off at full speed along the hill's foot.

The other two women leaped to the ground, as did Wilson, who secured the bundle of provisions, half-unconsciously. And this move was completed none too soon, for the next moment the yelling savages sprung into view through the pass, brandishing their weapons like mad.

"Now—gi' them your rifles, an' then fall back to the bresh yander. Ef they foller, let 'em hev your 'volvers," cried Tobe Castor, as his long, heavy rifle uprose to a level.

The Indians paused abruptly, uttering cries of wondering dismay. Why this bold stand upon the part of the fugitives, and where were the women who had so lately been with them? Could they still be fleeing upon the horses, whose rapidly-retreating hoof-strokes could still be distinguished?

"Now!" hissed Castor, and the three rifles spoke.

Two of the enemy went down without a struggle; a third reeled back with an arm swinging helplessly at his side. But neither of them was the renegade; he had not yet put in an appearance.

"Now drap back to the bresh, boys," and Tobe coolly retreated.

Just then Dusky Dick sprung into view, and with a wild yell, urged his men on. As the borderers fell back, the Sioux dashed ahead, discharging a few arrows; their firearms had all been long since emptied.

"Gi' them some more," coolly muttered Tobe, as he drew a heavy revolver, "Colt's Army," carrying a half-ounce ball with the range and force of a rifle.

And now quick and vicious the reports ring out from the three men standing there at bay. Chamber after chamber was discharged with fair effect.

It was not in Indian nature to stand this long, more especially as they had not the means of returning the compliment. Dusky Dick was one of the first to fall, and then, missing his voice, his men retreated to the entrance of the gap, concealing themselves as best they could behind the numerous bowlders that there skirted the prairie.

"Into the bresh an' load up, boys," said Castor, as he coolly leveled his second pistol at a wounded red-skin, who was slowly crawling away from the spot of death.

The revolver cracked, and the Indian made no further motion. Then, with a grim smile, the old scout also entered the bushes.

A most welcome surprise here awaited the fugitives, with the exception of Castor. The mouth of a cave was revealed behind the bushes, and into it the women had already made their way.

This, then, was why Castor had made what had seemed, at the time, a suicidal move, in not taking to the timber motte, and Wilson now expressed his regret at having spoken so harshly upon that occasion.

"'Taint no matter, Ed. I don't blame you, for it did look a lettle queer. But it was our on'y chaince, ye see. They'd 'a' cabbidged us thar, easy; but in here we kin hold our own ontel they starve us out. This is whar Fred 'n' me killed the b'ar this spring—'member, don't ye?"

"Yes, but—what's the matter now?"

Castor had turned around to peer through the bushes while speaking, and then with a bitter curse of angry chagrin he leveled his pistol and fired. Another curse broke from his lips, as he half-parted the bushes, as though he would have sprung forth.

"What is it—are they coming again?" and the two men pressed forward.

"No—he's gone, the pesky imp! He was a-playin' 'possum all the time, I do r'ailly b'lieve! Don't b'lieve he was tetched ary time!"

"Who—what do you mean?"

"Why, Dusky Dick, in co'se. He's gone. I see'd him jest as he was a-stealin' out o' sight. I sent a snap-shot at the cuss, but didn't tech him. I spotted him in the fust rush, but he must 'a' dodged it, an' then tumbled down to make us b'lieve he was dead," somewhat incoherently added Castor, as he once more resumed loading his firearms.

Though greatly chagrined, the borderers completed re-charging their weapons, without further comment; meanwhile keeping a close watch upon the open ground around the mouth of the defile. They felt assured that their foes were still near, although concealed from sight, and that they would not abandon the hunt without a desperate effort to avenge the death of their comrades, several of whose bodies still lay out in full view, stark and ghastly.

"What do you think they'll do next, Tobe?" queried Wilson, dubiously.

"Mebbe make a rush—but I don't think it. They've hed too good a taste o' our shooters fer thet. We must look out fer tricks, now; they'll pro'bly try sarcumvention fust. Mebbe try to smoke us out."

"But can they do it?"

"Not bad, they cain't. Jest step inside thar, an' you'll see. I ain't so pesky green as to run in a hole thet'd be stopped up like thet," chuckled the old ranger, grimly.

Wilson stooped low down and entered the rude entrance of the cave, but it soon enlarged sufficiently to admit of his standing erect, and gazed curiously around him. It was dimly lighted, but sufficiently so for him to discern the rocky sides and roof.

It was small; not twenty feet in diameter at the most, and of a rude circular form. The roof was arched; jagged and uneven, composed mainly of rock. From several points Wilson could detect a lighter ray than common, and he knew that there were numerous crevices leading to the outer world, by which the fresh air could gain entrance, although so crooked that no use could be made of them to gain a shot at those within. Thus it would be an utter impossibility for the cave to be filled completely with smoke, or even sufficient to smother the inmates.

The three women were huddling together upon the rocky floor, at the further extremity of the den, trembling with apprehension. Wilson approached them, and tried to relieve their fears by repeating the assurances of Tobe Castor. At this they brightened up a little, but only temporarily.

A low whistle from Castor now drew Wilson to the entrance, where he was cautioned to silence by a finger warningly upheld by the old scout. Listening intently, the settler fancied he could hear the sounds of cautious footsteps overhead.

Nothing was to be seen upon the plain beyond, save the dead savages. All was quiet at the entrance of the defile, but still the besieged knew that trouble was brewing. And they nerved themselves to meet it as best they could.

"Ready, boys," muttered Tobe, drawing back a little, until beneath the projecting shelf. "They're comin' now!"

And the next moment confirmed his assertion, for with loud yells several dark figures sprung down from the ledge, alighting in the midst of the bushes. Then, ere they could recover themselves, the affray began.

The pale-faces had the advantage of a dark background, while their foes were quite plainly revealed, and as the revolvers began to play rapidly, wild yells of rage and death agony told how true was their aim.

And then, from the prairie beyond, came the sounds of rushing feet, and the shrill war-whoop of the savage Sioux, telling of a simultaneous onset, deadly and determined.

CHAPTER XII.

EXIT DUSKY DICK.

It was a thrilling moment. Death stared the borderers full in the face, yet they did not flinch. To do so would be annihilation, and full well they knew that.

The enemy who had sprung down from above, had probably hoped to take them by surprise, being ignorant of the existence of the cave, and thus hold them at bay until the others could approach from the defile below, to deal the finishing stroke. But in this they had counted without their host, and the ready action of the borderers speedily foiled their calculations.

Scarcely had the savages regained their feet from the leap, than they were down again; this time for good. Three revolvers make quick work, especially when the targets are at barely more than arm's length, and held by desperate men, who are fighting for their own lives, as well as those of ones even more dear to them.

Thus before those coming from the defile could reach the bushes, the first portion of the drama was over. Four dead or disabled forms lay there; but where were the fugitive pale-faces? They speedily received the answer to this natural query.

"Back inside the hole, boys," uttered Tobe. "Back, or we're gone! We must keep 'em from gittin' inside."

And then at the mouth of the cave, but upon either side, where their bodies were partly shielded by the jagged rocks, although where a shot could be aimed without, if necessary, crouched the three men, sternly defiant. And thus, with tightly-compressed lips they awaited the assault, their rifles and half-empty pistols ready for instant use.

Thus they were, when the savages reached the bushes and parted them. Scarcely had the enemy time to note the mouth of the cave, thus laid bare, when a simultaneous report rung out, and three rifle-bullets tore their way through the living mass.

The Indians staggered and fell back involuntarily, but not until a second salute was given them. And then, despite the curses of Dusky Dick, the entire party of survivors turned and fled in dismay, not even pausing to remove their dead and dying.

The besieged, fearing a ruse, did not emerge, and then Dusky Dick once more succeeded in gaining cover in safety. And then while one kept guard, the other two borderers hastily recharged the weapons, that had stood them in such good stead.

For at least two hours after this signal repulse, not a sound betrayed the proximity of a foeman, but the old scout knew that the bushes screening the cave-entrance were under the range of keen eyes, whose owners would be only too glad of the chance to guide a bullet or an arrow into any one of the besieged who might chance to expose himself. And he was too wise to allow either of his comrades to commit an action that might change the whole situation.

Then there came an interruption. The sound of a human voice was heard; the voice of a white man, for the words were accented in a manner that no Indian could attain.

"Hellow thar, you Wilson!"

"It is Dusky Dick," muttered Tobe Castor.

"What can he want? Shall I answer him?"

"Yas—but don't show yourself. 'Twon't do no harm to hear what the cuss hes to say, as I knows on," slowly returned the scout.

"Hallo yourself! What is it you want with me, Dusky Dick?"

"I want to have a quiet talk with you, and see if we can't come to some sort o' tarms. Will I be safe if I come out thar? It's too fur away to talk from here."

"Tell him yas—ef he comes alone," said Tobe, in reply to the glance of Wilson.

"Yes. Come out, and if you act on the square, you sha'n't be hurt. But come alone, and mind you don't let any of your red-skinned devils try to crawl up on us, or you're a dead man. We can see all over from here."

After a few moment's silence, the renegade arose from behind his covert, and strode toward the cave-entrance. Although he bore weapons, they were held carelessly, as if not for use.

"Hold on thar, Mister Dusky Dick," called forth the old scout when the renegade was within a score yards. "Don't come no nearer. You hain't got the consumption, an' ken talk that fur, I reckon."

"Tobe Castor!" exclaimed Morgan, in a tone of uneasiness.

"Yas—it's old Tobe, fer shore. You know 'im, I reckon," chuckled the scout, grimly, evidently pleased at this symptom of alarm.

"I did not know you were here, but it don't matter. Who is the head man among you? You or Wilson?"

"You kin talk to Ed, here. I'll sorter lis'en. Shoot off yer mouth now, lively, an' then travel. Your comp'ny ain't overly welcome to none on us. D'y' hear?"

"Then, Wilson," added Morgan, not noticing the insulting tones of Castor, "what're your terms? You must see there is no use in your trying to hold out against us any longer."

"Isn't there? Your men didn't seem to think so, a while since, anyhow," sneered the settler.

"But we have been reinforced since then. Sloan Young is here with his band, and—"

"You lie, Dusky Dick, durn ye. You'll never see Young ontel the devil hes his due. It's thar you'll find him, fer I put a eend to his trapsein', this very night jest passed," retorted Castor.

What Dusky Dick's answer would have been, was never known, for at that moment a sharp report rung out from close behind Wilson, and then with a choking groan the doomed renegade swayed feebly to and fro for a moment, then sunk in a lifeless heap to the ground, the hot blood spouting from his left breast.

Quickly turning, the two borderers beheld the strangely convulsed features of their young comrade, John Stevens, as he glared out upon the dead man, the smoke still issuing from his rifle-muzzle. There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes that told he was half crazed.

The reproaches of the old scout died away upon his lips, for the young settler then sunk back, pale and breathless, his features strangely distorted. He was in a fit, probably brought on by the terrible trials of mind, added to the deed of vengeance he had just accomplished.

The Sioux uttered frightful yells of anger at the death of their chief, but they did not venture forth from their covert. They had already received a sufficiency of the pale-faces' favors at close quarters, and had evidently resolved to await the slower but more sure process of starvation.

It was some little time before John recovered from his convulsion, as there was no water to aid in his restoration, and then he lay back, only half-conscious, as weak as a child.

As the time wore on, the besieged began to suffer from want of water. Their hunger had been appeased, but it only seemed to increase their thirst. And yet there was not a single drop to be had.

Their prospects looked gloomy indeed, for if they began to suffer thus early what would they be forced to endure, were they closely besieged, as there seemed no doubt they would be? Even Castor became gloomy and despondent.

Thus the hours rolled by, without any demonstrations from the Sioux, save occasionally a rifle-shot that either flattened harmlessly outside, or else spent its force against the walls of the cave, without injury to the occupants.

But when the shades of night fell, the Indians built several fires upon the prairie, around the besieged, and though at some little distance, yet close enough to guard against their stealing forth from their retreat unobserved. They made no attempt to surprise the cave inmates, and well for them that they did not, for both Castor and Wilson kept unceasing watch, with weapons in readiness to repel the assault in case it should come.

But toward morning, when the gray light in the east gave warning of the coming sun, there arose a fearful tumult without, awakening the sleeping women, who uttered loud cries of affright. And for a moment the two sentinels were confused.

But the truth flashed upon their minds. They knew they were saved!

"Hooray! they're jest more'n ketchin' it!" yelled Castor, as he sprung forth from the cave, uttering his wild war-cry; and then, closely followed by Wilson, he dashed into the thick of the melee.

They were indeed rescued, and by the aid of Fred Wilson. When that worthy so abruptly turned from the chase, he knew the plans of Tobe Castor.

He remembered the bear's den, and saw that the fugitives were heading directly toward it. Here he knew they could stand a pretty tough siege, and so he resolved to speed at once to the settlements, raise a force sufficient to rescue them, and return speedily.

He succeeded in reaching Hutchinson, where he told his story, and found no difficulty in raising a squad of men sufficient for his purpose. In half an hour after his arrival, he was on the back track, and by hurrying on at full speed, he arrived in time to surprise the Indians, the most of whom were sleeping.

The onslaught was deadly, and at most, but one or two of the war-party escaped to tell the tragic tale. Then the stray horses were hunted up, and upon these the women and John were placed, when the party retraced their steps to the settlement.

Dusky Dick had been somewhat premature in his attack, as the general uprising did not take place for two days after, and the result of that is familiar to all readers.

Tobe Castor, John Stevens and Fred Wilson did good service in the cause, and passed unharmed through the ordeal. They found and buried the remains of the unfortunate settler and his wife, near the ruins of their former home.

Within a year after the events recorded, there occurred a double wedding at St. Paul, in which Annie and Jennie, John and Fred were the principal actors, though an outsider would have thought Tobe Castor divided the honors pretty equally with them. That he "jest more'n spread hisself," upon the occasion, we have his own word for.

THE END.

DIME POCKET NOVELS.

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By Ingoldsby North. 108—The Wood King. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 109—The Scalped Hunter. By Harry Hazard. 110—Nick, the Scout. By W.J. Hamilton. 111—The Texas Tiger. By Edward Willett. 112—The Crossed Knives. By Hamilton. 113—Tiger-Heart, the Tracker. By Howard. 114—The Masked Avenger. By Ingraham. 115—The Pearl Pirates. By Starbuck. 116—Black Panther. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 117—Abdiel, the Avenger. By Ed. Willett. 118—Cato, the Creeper. By Fred. Dewey. 119—Two-Handed Mat. By Jos. E. Badger. 120—Mad Trail Hunter. By Harry Hazard. 121—Black Nick. By Frederick Whittaker. 122—Kit Bird. By W.J. Hamilton. 123—The Specter Riders. By Geo. Gleason. 124—Giant Pete. By W.J. Hamilton. 125—The Girl Captain. By Jos. E. Badger. 126—Yankee Eph. By J.R. Worcester. 127—Silverspur. By Edward Willett. 128—Squatter Dick. By Jos. E. Badger. 129—The Child Spy. By George Gleason. 130—Mink Coat. By Jos. E. Badger. 131—Red Plume. By J. Stanley Henderson. 132—Clyde, the Trailer. By Maro O. 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