Front matter

DUSKY DICK:

OR,

OLD TOBY CASTOR'S GREAT CAMPAIGN

A STORY OF THE LAST SIOUX OUTBREAK.

BY JOS. E. BADGER, Jr.,

AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWING POCKET NOVELS.

59. The Texas Hawks. 63. The Florida Scout.

NEW YORK:

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by

BEADLE AND COMPANY,

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

DUSKY DICK.

CHAPTER I.

DUSKY DICK'S PROPOSAL.

"Annie, girl, who is that coming up the spring path? Ah me! I fear my old eyes are beginning to fail me at last!"

"Coming up the—ugh! father, it is that Dick Morgan!"

"Dusky Dick—what can he want here, I wonder?" and there was cadence of mingled uneasiness and dislike perceptible in the old man's tones that told but too plainly the advancing figure was not that of a welcome or respected guest.

The first speaker was an old man, whose head was frosted by the snows of over half a century and whose form—still athletic and supple—was beginning to bow beneath the weight of years. An honest, open face was that of old Edward Wilson; a true index of his heart.

He was sitting in the doorway of his humble log cabin, smoking the well-blackened pipe as a dessert to supper, just finished. But as he spoke the last words, he roused himself up and stood with crossed arms in the doorway, as though he would fain bar the intruder out, who was now within a few paces of the building.

The form of this man was clothed in a rough garb of tanned skin and woolen stuff, despite the warm weather, and a broad-brimmed slouched hat rested upon his head, concealing the upper portion of his face from casual view. A long barreled rifle rested carelessly in the hollow of his left arm, while the haft of a knife, and a revolver butt peeped from the belt at his waist.

"Good evenin', Wilson, and the same to you, Miss Annie," he uttered in a strong clear voice, as he half paused, and then with a careless gesture pushed the hat away from his brow.

The clear mellow light of the full moon shone down upon him, and fairly revealed his features. A glance at them may not be amiss, as this worthy is destined to figure somewhat prominently in our narrative.

At the first glance, a strange peculiarity about him would attract the gaze, and leave an unpleasant impression upon the mind of the beholder. And yet it was not that the man was so hideous, in features.

But there was a strange tint to his entire face and neck that involuntarily repelled one. And from this had come the sobriquet, known far and wide throughout the western country of Dusky Dick.

Indeed, more than one person who was well acquainted with him, would have been puzzled to have told whether he ever had any other name, or if this was not the one by which he had been christened, supposing that ceremony had ever been performed. And Morgan seemed to be rather proud of the title, than otherwise.

In some way he had been badly burned by an explosion of powder, and though no other scars were perceptible, this bluish tinge caused by the burned powder penetrating the skin, remained clear and distinct. The dye did not fade as he grew older, but seemed to deepen and show brighter.

His features were regular and clear cut; his face was kept smooth shorn, though the black, Indian-like hair hung far down his shoulders. There were not a few who secretly asserted that he came by this last trait fairly, and wondered only that he had not the curved nose and high cheek-bones as well.

His black eyes were of a fair size, but dull and sleepy looking, save when he was angered; then one was strangely reminded of an infuriated serpent, so wickedly did they flash and scintillate. In form he was tall, broad-shouldered and well built, being somewhat noted for his skill in the use of weapons, fleetness of foot and prowess as a wood-ranger.

"Good-evening, Dick," coldly uttered the settler in reply, evidently not caring to encourage the man, as he still stood in the narrow doorway, without a hint for the other to enter.

"Heard the news?" added Dusky Dick, as a slight frown crossed his face, and a smoldering glow lit up his dark eyes.

"No—I don't know as I have. What is it?" listlessly responded Wilson as he deliberately crushed up some "natural leaf," and crammed it into the wide-mouthed pipe-bowl. "Bring me a coal, Annie."

"'Bout the red-skins. They've got thar backs up at last and thar's goin' to be the tallest kind of a muss, afore the thing's over," and there seemed to be a faint tinge of exultation in the tones of the speaker, that did not escape the keen witted borderer.

"How is it that you know so much of their feelings, Dusky Dick? A body might almost think you were one of them, by the way you talk."

Morgan gave vent to a low laugh; deep, smooth and mellow, but yet filled with a peculiar meaning. Then he replied:

"I travel fur and keep my ears open, neighbor, as a man must needs to in these troubled times, and in a new country. I have kivered nigh onto fifty miles to-day, since sun-up. I stopped here to tell you the news. If you think it's wuth offerin' a feller a cheer, and a bite of somethin' to eat, I'll tell you it all. If not, then we'll call it quits and I'll go furder."

"Come in—I did not think," added Wilson, a little abashed, for border hospitality is proverbial. "Annie, give him what we have. Fall to, friend, and welcome."

With a nod toward Mrs. Wilson who was seated at the further end of the rude apartment, quietly knitting, Dusky Dick took a seat at the table and helped himself liberally to the plain though palatable viands that Annie hastened to replace upon the table. The girl then ignited a rude lamp, and retreated to the side of her mother.

We do not intend describing the building; most of our readers have seen these cabins, either in reality or through the medium of print. It was a regular frontier cabin, made of logs roughly hewn, "chinked" with billets of wood, daubed over with stiffened clay. The walls were unpapered, and the furniture of the rudest description, the majority being "home made;" the ax and auger being the principal tools used.

But one of the inmates at least deserves more than a passing notice as she will figure quite prominently before the reader in this tale of border life and trials. That one is Annie Wilson.

Barely five feet in hight, she was a model of feminine grace and beauty, tempered and strengthened by the life of freedom and health-giving exercise of the past two years. Her form had filled and rounded to superb symmetry, her cheek glowed with the hue of health and spirits; at eighteen, she was a woman, in the truest sense of the word.

Her hair was of a rich golden brown, her eyes, large and lustrous, were deeply blue; her nose, of a faintly Roman type, gave a decisive expression to her countenance, that was softened by the small, ruby-lipped mouth, from which gleamed twin rows of pearly teeth whenever she smiled, and caused a cunning dimple to play upon the softly-rounded chin.

Dusky Dick ate voraciously, but yet found time to cast more than one admiring glance toward the border beauty, which were by no means welcome, judging from the scornful turn of the bright red lips, and the flashing of her blue eyes as the maiden bent over some rough mending. Then Morgan arose and approached the settler, who was still smoking.

"You don't ask me the news," he uttered, in a disagreeable tone as he squatted down upon the doorstep.

"I knew you'd tell it without," was the quiet reply.

"Yes, that's what I stopped fer. The Sioux are goin' to raise partic'lar Cain 'fore long."

"Are you sure?"

"I hed it from thar own lips," was the confident reply.

"You seem to be very thick with them, Dick. Some might think it strange they should tell you this, unless you were in with them thicker than an honest man should be," and the settler gazed keenly at his visitor.

"They'd best not say so in my hearin'," muttered Morgan with an ominous scowl. "But I've al'ays acted on the square with 'em, and so they give me the hint. It's been brewin' for a long time, and they've made up thar minds not to stand any more of this everlastin' cheatin'. But never mind that jest now. I had other motives in stoppin' here," and Dusky Dick cast a sidelong glance at the sturdy settler; a glance that had in it not a little uneasiness.

"If there is any thing else that I should know, Dick Morgan, now's the time to say it."

"What d' you intend doin', anyhow?"

"About what?"

"Why—the Injuns, o' course."

"They will not trouble me—anyhow, I shall stay here until I am more sure of what they intend doing. I won't leave my property without good cause."

"You'll git rubbed out, then, shore. You remember Sloan Young? You turned him out o' doors once, because he was drunk—"

"Because he insulted the women, the dirty half-breed," angrily interjected Wilson.

"Well, I don't know. Anyhow, he's a big man 'mong some o' the Injuns, and he swears he will use this chance to rub you out. Now I don't like Young, and I'll save you, if you say so. Petit Corbeau is a strong friend o' mine, and will back me ag'inst Young. What do you say?"

"Speak plain. You are holding something back, Dusky Dick. Why should you do all this for me? We have not been such close and intimate friends as all that comes to. What is it you mean?"

The other appeared somewhat discomposed at this straightforward speech, and his treacherous eyes shifted uneasily and fell from before the steady gaze of the old settler. But then he responded, with a forced laugh:

"You're in a awful hurry, Wilson, but so be it. I'll come to the p'int at once, and then we may see the way clear before us. Then it 'mounts to jest this. I'll agree to save your stock, house, crap and your lives. I'll engage that you sha'n't be bothered a mite, no matter how badly other families are sarved. It'll be a great trial and trouble, of course, and I won't do it 'thout pay—big pay, I expect you'll call it; but then remember what I save you."

"Come to the point, man; don't skirmish so," impatiently interrupted the borderer, eying Dusky Dick steadily.

"Well, I'll do this, as I said, if you'll—if you'll promise me that Miss Annie yander, shall marry me, jest's soon's this trouble is fa'rly over. There, now!" and the fellow uttered a sigh of relief.

"Father!" exclaimed Annie, rising from her chair.

"Wait, daughter," and Wilson waved his hand for her to keep silence. "Dick Morgan, are you in earnest about this matter?"

"In 'arnest? Why, of course I am. I'll do all I—"

"Hold on—don't take too much for granted, my man, or you may be disappointed. I thought you knew me better than to come here with any such proposition as this. But since you did not, let me tell you that I think you are a precious fool and dirty scoundrel, and that the sooner you take yourself away from here, the better it will be for both of us," and the stalwart settler arose erect, his eyes flashing and his fists close clenched.

"Stand back, Ed. Wilson—keep your distance or it'll be the worse for you!" muttered Dusky Dick, as he involuntarily retreated a pace, at the same time throwing his rifle-muzzle forward.

"Don't threaten—you cowardly cur, or I'll forget myself and give you something to growl at. There is your road. Take it and begone, and don't let me ever see your ugly face 'round here again. Go!"

"Hold on a bit, Wilson," and a vicious glitter filled the desperado's eyes as his fingers nervously manipulated the rifle-lock. "Better think twice afore you throw away your chance. I tell you ag'in, that if you don't agree to my plans, you won't live to be a day older. You'll all be killed and skelped. You can't run away, fer you're watched by those who would be only too glad of a chance to plug ye! Do as I said; promise me her, and I'll save you all. If you don't, then—"

"Hold!" rung out a clear, firm voice, as a light, agile figure sprung before the sturdy settler. "Hold! Uncock that gun, or I'll send a bullet through your black heart! Uncock it, I say—and now leave!"

It was Annie who had thus interrupted the conversation, and probably prevented a tragedy, for the treacherous villain had cocked his rifle, unobserved by Wilson, intending to shoot down one whom he feared to face openly. But the watchful eye of the daughter had noted his action, and, grasping the ready rifle, had checked his purpose, as detailed.

Edward Wilson realized the peril he had so narrowly escaped, and, as the baffled villain shrunk back from before the threatening muzzle pointed by the dauntless girl, he uttered a cry of rage, and with one enormous bound, covered the intervening distance and stood beside Dusky Dick. Then one brawny hand clutched the scoundrel's throat, while the other arm was drawn back to deliver a crushing blow.

Morgan dropped his rifle to remove the grip upon his throat, the weapon exploding as it fell. But before he could raise a hand, the hard, heavy fist of the settler shot out and alighted full between his eyes, with a crushing thud, hurling the man twice his length away.

With an angry howl, Morgan sprung up and whipped out his knife—a long, venomous-looking blade—and crouched down like a panther ready to spring. Then again did the voice of Annie ring out:

"Mind yourself, Dusky Dick! I have you covered, and I know how to use a rifle. One step forward and down you go!"

"You see we have the best of you this time," quietly added Wilson, but with a menacing ring in his low voice. "Take your gun and begone. 'Twould only serve you right if I shot you down like a dog—as you meant to serve me; but I let you go this time. But the next—look out!"

Dusky Dick did not reply until he had secured his rifle. Then retreating a pace he spoke:

"And you look out. You've struck me. Good! A man never does that a second time. I'll be even with you yet—and with her, too. You hold the cards now—my time 'll come soon. Jest put that in your pipe and smoke it. May be you'll remember it afore long," and with a hard laugh the baffled desperado turned away from the spot.

The settler stood gazing after him irresolutely for a moment, but then turned toward the cabin door. Annie's voice checked him:

"Who is that coming, father?"

A tall agile figure was rapidly approaching the cabin from the not very distant woods, bearing a rifle, as could be seen by the clear moonlight. But whether an Indian or a white, could not be told, as the dress partook about equally of both races.

"Hellow, you!" cried a high-pitched, peculiar voice, that plainly bespoke the white man. "Ain't shootin' at the moon, be ye? Got plenty o' powder, I reckon?"

"Tobe Castor, by all that's good!" exclaimed Wilson, springing forward to meet the new-comer, in evident delight. "You are just the man of all others that I wanted to see."

"Sho! don't say so? Want to know? Ain't jokin', be ye?" and then the two men warmly clasped hands, like friends of a life-long standing.

"Come, Tobe; supper's over, but I guess there is something left. What brought you up this way so early in the season?"

"Don't ax me now—wait ontil they ain't lis'enin'," muttered the man, cautiously; then adding aloud: "How d'y, Miss Annie? Purtier'n ever, by gum! Beats all natur' how you do keep on a gittin' so. Sorter selfish, ain't ye, now? Got your own an' a dozent more besides—o' good looks, I mean. Wings 'most beginned to grow, hain't they?" and with a fatherly freedom, the weather-beaten old borderer stooped and imprinted a kindly kiss upon the fair face upturned toward his.

"Your tongue has lost none of its cunning, I see, anyhow Uncle Tobe," laughed the maiden, not unpleased.

"It's a lookin' glass, so fur's you're consarned, gal. But ef you will, I'm dretful hungry—hain't hed a bite fur 'most two weeks, 'cept at odd spells. Ef you've got any thin' in the grub line thet is in danger o' bein' sp'iled, jest please trot it out, while I talk with Ed, hyar."

In obedience to a nod from Castor, Wilson led the way to a little distance and then briefly detailed the purport of Dusky Dick's visit. Then he anxiously awaited the comments of his visitor.

"The dirty whelp! You'd orter 'a' shot him like a polecat! He merry—oh! git out! Makes me mad—durned ef it don't, now! Jest to think. Oh won't I—thet's all; ef ever I git mud-hooks on the pesky critter? But wait a bit. He told you the truth, Ed; yas, he did, so fur's the reds risin' is consarned. They're goin' to do it—ef i'deed they hain't begun a'ready. They're jest goin' to chaw up the hull kentry afore they stop. Thar's goin' to be jest a lettle the liveliest time you ever see'd, 'fore its eended."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so—fer shure. An' you're in a bad place hyar—a pesky mean place, Ed," impressively added Castor.

"What do you advise?"

"Jest this. Take your fambly an' pack up. Git out o' hyar like 'twas ha'nted. Pull up stakes an' travel."

"And leave the farm—lose my two years of hard work?"

"Better thet, then lose your skelps an' it with the rest. An' thet's jest what you'll do ef you stay. I tell you, Ed, it's a ser'ous bizness, this is. Dusky Dick told you the truth o' the plans o' the imps. An' then you've sot him ag'inst you, too. He's got Injun blood in him. A pity it happined jest now, though I don't blame you, not a bit, but you'd orter never 'a' let him git away. He'll bring the imps down on ye, shore. He's a big dog 'th a brass collar 'mongst some o' them—the wust o' the lot, ef thet kin be, whar all is so bad. He's the one you must look out fer, the most."

"You think he's in league with them?"

"I know it, fer shore. But whar's Fred?"

"Over at Stevens'."

"Mought 'a' knowed thet 'thout axin'; but I don't blame the feller a mite. Jinnie's a mighty purty gal, an' ef I wasn't so old an' ugly, an' she wasn't so smart, an' all else went 'cordin', an' she didn't say no, durned ef I didn't hitch onto her myself. But never mind thet now. What're you goin' to do?"

"What do you advise, Tobe?"

"Jest this. Take sech things as you cain't do 'thout an' don't want to leave, an' strike out fer the bigger settlements. I tell you, ef you stay hyar, to-morrow this time won't see ary one o' your skelps on the place whar natur' 'lowed fer 'em to grow," earnestly added Castor.

"Father," called out the clear, sweet voice of Annie, at this juncture, "all's ready."

"Come, Tobe; eat a bite and I will settle my plans. I'll let you know then," added Wilson, turning toward the cabin.

CHAPTER II.

A FORTUNATE DISCOVERY.

Casual mention has been made of one "Fred," who was the eldest child—and only surviving son—of Edward Wilson. He had left the forest cabin only a few minutes before the advent of Dusky Dick, barely taking time to finish his supper.

Tobe Castor was correct in his shrewd guess as to what had attracted him so far, after a hard day's work; although probably Fred would have denied the "soft impeachment," had any one told him that it was only to see and chat with Jennie Stevens, that he so frequently traversed the three-mile path that intervened between the two houses. But such was indeed the case.

And if the truth must be told, Fred had a faithful ally in the enemy's camp, too, in the shape of John Stevens, who appeared to be profoundly impressed with the good qualities of the young borderer, and seemed resolved that Jennie should also entertain the same ideas. But Jack would have been very wroth, no doubt, had any one hinted that he was playing a part; that it was partly the reflected light of Annie's perfections that made him so esteem Fred.

The latter personage, then, was swiftly striding along the faintly-defined trail, his thoughts busy with a momentous subject. He was picturing the future as he would wish it to be a home, a wife—who, strangely enough, always possessed Jennie's face and form—a growing family of little ones—when suddenly he paused and bent his head in an attitude of acute attention.

He heard a shrill, peculiar whistle ring out from only a few yards before him, evidently in the same trail. But what increased his surprise, was that an answer came, like an echo; this time from some little distance to his right.

Fred knew that the country was in a troubled state; he had closely watched the signs that portended the coming of a storm that, should it fall, would sweep all before it with resistless fury. And now a premonition of coming peril weighed upon his spirit like a revelation.

Without pausing to reflect, he glided out from the path and crouched down amid the dense undergrowth, his ears strained to catch any sounds that might either confirm or banish his suspicions. At first he could hear nothing, but then the low murmuring of human voices was borne to his hearing upon the gentle night breeze.

He knew that the speakers, whoever they might be, were approaching, and in a few moments more Fred could distinguish the words, which were spoken in the Sioux dialect. Thanks to a border life and acquiring spirit, the young settler was slightly conversant with the patois; sufficiently so to follow the meaning of the speakers.

The first words he caught, caused his heart to throb wildly, and he crouched forward, fearing almost to breathe, lest he should lose a sentence.

"Then we are to strike the first blow to-night?"

"Yes. Inkpaduta gave the word and said that Petit Corbeau told him so. He bade Long Hair take his choice. He chose the people of the lodge by the great stone. Dusky Dick chose the one—"

Here the words became unintelligible to the listener, the party having passed on by his place of concealment.

Fred arose and glided stealthily after them. He had no difficulty in recognizing the allusion to "the people by the great stone." He knew that the Stevens family was meant, but he desired to learn more, if possible.

The trail was dark and gloomy, owing to the dense shade cast by the thickly-growing trees, that intercepted the moon's rays. But after a few moments, Fred heard the Indians pause and seat themselves at only a few yards from the trail.

He glided nearer, until he could again hear their words. The same person was speaking that he had heard before.

"We will wait here for Long Hair. It will not be long before he comes."

"Where is Bob-tailed Horse?" asked another of the party.

"Gone to the lodge by the great rock. He will open the doors for us that we may strike without being hurt. He is to pretend his leg is hurt, so that he can not walk to his lodge, and will ask to rest there. Then when the pale-faced fools sleep, he will open the doors and let us in."

"Good! there are five scalps for us!" exultantly uttered one of the savages.

"No—only four. One Eye says that the young squaw must go to his lodge, or he will not help us."

The other demurred a little at this, but he was overruled by his comrades. Fred clutched his rifle with fingers that itched to be at the throats of the plotting scoundrels; but he restrained himself, and then glided stealthily away, thus losing information that would have still further increased his anxiety, for a diabolical plan was commented upon, concerning his own family.

But the young settler had heard enough to set him half-wild. He knew that the maiden whom he loved, was in great peril, and that thought, for the time, drove all other considerations away.

He understood the allusion to One Eye, the Indian name of Sloan Young, the half-breed, whose left eye had been destroyed in a drunken fight. And he, too, was the Long Hair mentioned. Fred knew that the villain had been prowling around the cabin quite frequently of late, though the thought of his daring to look upon Jennie in such a light, never once occurred to him, before this.

The one called Bob-tailed Horse, Fred also knew by reputation, as being a reckless, unscrupulous rascal, drunken and worthless, unless in just some such manner as the one hinted at. But this plan he would foil, at all hazards.

So when once safely beyond ear-shot, Fred arose and dashed through the forest with nimble feet, but yet using a degree of caution, for since hearing the revelations of the plotters, he knew not where or when he might encounter deadly enemies, who would scruple little in taking his life, provided they could do so without incurring too much risk to themselves.

In half an hour more, Wilson neared the cabin belonging to Wesley Stevens, and when almost at the door, he met John, who was just sallying out to visit the Wilsons. Fred drew him aside and quickly detailed what he had overheard.

The young man was greatly excited by these tidings, but managed to control his feelings, in a measure.

"Are you sure you heard those words? May there not be some mistake?" he asked, dubiously.

"I only wish there was—but I know better. Depend upon it, it is true. Is that Indian in the house?"

"Bob-tail? Yes. He came in not long ago, pretending to be lame, tired and hungry."

"You see! the very story I heard he was to tell! The dirty imp!" muttered Fred, angrily, while his blue eyes flashed ominously.

"What had we better do, anyhow?"

"First, I intend to settle with this devil; then we must decide further. I think, though, it would be best for the family to all go over to our house, and then if it is deemed best, we should try to reach the settlements below; we can all go together. It is on our road, you know, so there 'll be no time lost."

"I was just going over there,—but if you—that is—" and handsome John hesitated and blushed in a very suspicious manner.

"I tell you what I think is best, John. You know your father must be told of it, and if you go to talking to him in secret, after having started away, Bob-tail may suspect something. It would look more natural if I did it. Don't you think so?" and Fred felt an inward conviction that he had presented his point very well.

"Yes, I do think so. So if you'll do that, I'll run on ahead and tell your folks what's in the wind. I'll have them all ready by the time you come. Don't lose any time, though," and then the two young men parted.

Fred was greeted at the door by Wesley Stevens, and bade enter, but he made an excuse and drew the old man outside. In a few words he revealed his discovery, adding:

"Now I will get to talking with Bob-tail, and then when I cough, do you take the fellow from behind. Don't be particular what you hit him with, just so you don't let him make much noise."

"Very well—I'll do my part," and then Stevens led the way into the house, where a rude lamp had been lighted by the blushing Jennie as soon as she heard the voice of the young borderer.

The greeting was cordial, but still somewhat constrained between the young couple, for the old folks were looking on, and they had not yet progressed so far along love's path as to be unreserved. It was a secret—so they imagined—known only to each other.

Fred bent an inquiring look upon the dusky figure crouching near the corner of the fireplace, where yet glowed a small fire; the remnant of that necessary to prepare the evening meal. It was indeed "Bob-tailed Horse," who had consented to play such a vile part.

And he seemed preëminently fitted for such a duty, too. Low, squat-built, he was clothed in a dirty, greasy and tattered pair of trowsers and a calico shirt, with bare feet and head. His face was swollen and bloated with strong drink: his eyes bleared and bloodshot, from the same cause. On the whole, a more disgusting specimen of the "noble Lo!" could scarcely be found, even among his own people; and that is saying a good deal.

"How?" exclaimed Fred, as he stood before the savage, outstretching a hand.

The greeting was returned, and Bob-tail arose to clasp the hand. Then Fred, as if accidentally, worked around until he was between the Indian and his late position.

"Has 'Bob-tailed Horse' saw Petit Corbeau lately?" asked Wilson.

"No—long time—so many suns," and he raised both hands. "Little Crow call Injun drunk fool," and a venomous glitter filled the bleared eyes of the sot.

"You don't tell me so? Why he must have been drunk to have said that. You don't like fire-water, do you?"

"No—no like—heap bad! Ugh!" brazenly lied the rascal.

"Does my brother know where One Eye is?" suddenly asked Fred.

Bob-tail looked steadily at the young settler for a moment, and then slowly shook his head. Stevens drew nearer, whittling upon a heavy, half-bent ox bow of hickory.

"Let Bob-tailed Horse listen. I have a little story to tell him," slowly returned Fred, as his gaze met that of the Indian.

"A little bird told me that the Siouxs were getting mad at their white brothers. That Bob-tailed Horse was one of them. That he had sworn he would take the scalp of a white man before another sun. Is this story true?"

The savage shifted his gaze and glanced swiftly around the room. Stevens still whittled on, idly whistling; the women sat gazing upon the—to them—incomprehensible scene, with strange emotion. Fred deliberately resumed:

"This bird also told me that Bob-tailed Horse would go to the cabin of a pale-face and ask for lodging and food, pretending he was weary and sick, so that he might open the door to One Eye and Dusky Dick, and let them enter to kill the whites without danger to themselves. Did the little bird tell me true?"

The Indian stood motionless as if carved from stone, save that one hand slowly glided up toward his belt, where hung a knife and hatchet. Then Wilson coughed.

Stevens sprung forward with uplifted ox-bow, and ere the fated red-skin could stir a step, the heavy club descended upon his head with crushing force. He tottered feebly, and then fell forward into Fred's arms, who allowed the senseless form to fall to the floor.

Both women uttered a little cry of wondering alarm at this sudden and unexpected move, but then a gesture from Stevens checked all further outcry.

"Hush!" he cried, sternly; "don't make any noise, for your lives! Shut the door, Jennie, quick. There may be others of the devils prowling around. Fred's story was a true one. This carrion was a spy, who intended giving us up to his friends to-night."

Fred stooped over the stricken Indian, and carefully examined the wound. He found that, though senseless, the rascal still lived; his skull had not been fractured, though the blow seemed enough to have killed an ox.

"What shall we do with him, Stevens?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Dead men tell no tales!" sternly responded the old settler, a deadly glitter in his black eyes.

"No—no, do not kill him, husband!" cried the wife, springing forward, as he raised aloft the blood-stained ox-bow.

"It is him or us, Mary," but the uplifted arm slowly sunk. "He would have killed us all, after eating our food!"

"Tie him and put him down the pit," suggested Jennie.

"It will do, Stevens," said Wilson. "They will find we suspect their plans, anyhow, when they find we are gone. It would only make them hotter after us, if we killed him."

"You may be right, Fred, but the dog is not fit to live. However, have it your own way."

A strong cord was quickly produced, and with it the rascal was bound hand and foot. Then a gag was forced between his jaws; after which a trap-door was lifted and the Indian cast rudely down into a pit, where were stored a few vegetables.

"Now what next?"

"You had better pack up such things as you must have, and such as we can carry; come with me to our house. John has told them all by this time, and they will be ready for a move. I don't think we will be safe out here as long as those two devils are at large, with their gang."

"But we must take the horses."

"No—I think best not. The rascals are somewhere between here and our house, and they would be sure to hear the sound of hoof-strokes, while on foot we can pass them without being noticed. If we think best, we can then take horses from our house. I don't think it would be safe now."

After some little demurring on the part of Stevens, who did not relish leaving his valuable stock, this plan was adopted. And then the party hastened to secure such articles as could not well be abandoned.

In a very few minutes, the little party of four were laden with food and weapons, and then emerging from the cabin, they set out upon their perilous journey.

CHAPTER III.

DUSKY DICK'S FIRST BLOW.

John Stevens felt not a little concern as he strode along the grass-grown trail that Fred Wilson had so lately traversed. The discovery made by the latter was truly a momentous one, and if true, the danger impending was one that would require all their skill and courage to avert.

He thought of the gentle Annie being exposed to all the horrors of an Indian attack, and wild visions of daring deeds and heroic struggles in her behalf flashed across his mind. He felt that he could accomplish all these, for her sake.

And, in good truth, these fancies possessed his mind so greatly that he forgot a greater portion of necessary prudence, striding along as if in the utmost security, as though fully assured that there was not an enemy within a hundred miles of his present location. But he was speedily awakened from his abstraction.

A dark form suddenly sprung out before him, with leveled rifle-muzzle threatening him. As his eyes fell upon the intruder, John fancied he recognized the figure.

"Is that you, Dusky Dick?" he called out, halting and half-raising his rifle.

"Keep your gun down—don't offer to shoot, or I'll plug ye! Yes, it's me. But who the devil are you?" returned the man.

"Stevens—John Stevens, you know," laughed the young settler. "Why, who'd you take me for?"

"Fer a Injun. They're 'round at thar tricks, I b'lieve. But whar are you goin'?"

"Over to Wilson's—why?"

"Oh, nothin'—I didn't know. Folks all well at home?"

"Yes, all well; that is, all of our own. But there is a lame Indian there, who hurt himself somehow, while out hunting, I believe. You know him—Bob-tailed Horse?" added John, the better to allay any suspicions the other might have entertained.

"Yes; a drunken dog. Mind out or he'll sarve you some dirty trick, yet. Wal, if you're goin' to Wilson's, I won't hinder you no more. Jest give them my respects, will you?" and Dusky Dick stepped to one side of the path.

But, as he did so, John noted an evil glitter in his eyes as the moonlight fell upon the renegade's countenance, through a rift in the tree-tops. Stevens realized that Dusky Dick meant mischief.

"All right—I'll tell 'em," and the young settler strode lightly past the man.

He saw the heavy rifle of the desperado raise and sweep through the air, wielded by strong arms, evidently aimed at his head. But Stevens ducked adroitly, and the weapon hissed harmlessly above his head, the force of the unresisted blow swinging Dusky Dick around almost against him.

With an angry cry, Stevens whirled his rifle around, its iron barrel alighting full upon the traitor's head, felling him to the ground like a dead man. But still a little cry broke from his lips.

Instantly all around was confusion, and the young settler shuddered involuntarily at the terrible commotion he had aroused. Wild yells filled the air until it sounded as though scores of devils had broken loose upon earth, all thirsting for human blood.

Stevens knew his danger, and realized the full extent of his peril—that he had fallen into an ambush of red-skins of whom Dusky Dick was either a member, or else a chief. And he knew too that he would be put to his best, if he escaped the threatened capture.

He had not alone to think of himself, either. The fate of more than one probably depended upon the speedy accomplishment of his errand. He must warn the Wilson family of their danger.

Uttering a low cry, John crouched down, and, summoning all his powers, sprung with headlong force along the path, that he could see now contained one or more of his enemies. But it was the only road for him now. He knew that he would not stand the faintest chance of success, in a run at night through the forest, with the well-trained and fleet-footed Indians for competitors.

He leaped forcibly against the foremost Indian, hurling him breathless to the ground, without receiving any particular harm himself. But there another confronted him, with uplifted hatchet gleaming in the moonlight, only a few feet distant.

John lowered his rifle and sprung forward, at the same time thrusting out forcibly with his weapon. The rifle-muzzle took the red-skin full in the pit of his stomach, doubling him up like a jack-knife, and causing him to emit a fearful grunt; but at the same time he clutched the rifle-barrel and held it with a firm grip. This, added to the impetus of his rush, caused Stevens to stumble headlong, and ere he could recover himself, several red-skins were upon him.

Literally so in this case, and the young settler was borne struggling to the ground, almost smothered by the weight of the yelling red-skins. And then their weapons flashed out and were uplifted to drink his heart's blood.

It seemed as if the young man's fate was irretrievably sealed, and his eyes closed as a faint prayer rose to his lips. But his time was not yet.

Dusky Dick recovered his feet and sprung forward, his head dizzy and confused by the sound blow he had received. But he knew enough to see the peril of the young settler, and—for a purpose of his own—resolved to avert it, for the present.

"Hold! don't strike!" he commanded, in the Sioux dialect. "You must not kill him yet."

It is not likely that his words would have had the desired effect had he not beaten the weapons aside with his rifle-barrel, and fairly hurled one or two of the savages aside.

It was, perhaps, fortunate that John had not shed any blood, although he had given some severe blows, for then, not even the influence of Dusky Dick, great as that undoubtedly was, could have saved Stevens from immolation. Even as it was, two of the red-skins—those who had received John's compliments—were clamorous for his death.

But Dusky Dick was firm, and fiercely declared that the man who lifted a hand against Stevens, unless by his express orders, should die the death of a dog. This threat, when uttered by one possessing the renegade's resolution, sufficed; and then by his orders, the young settler was firmly bound.

Dusky Dick drew aside with several of the principal braves, and consulted earnestly for a few moments; then he returned, and Stevens was lifted erect. Two savages held him firmly, while another loosened the bonds that confined his feet, so that he could walk, but not run.

"What do you intend doing, Dusky Dick?" he demanded, in a tone as calm as he could make it, while such angry passions struggled within his breast; "what do you mean by this outrage?"

"I told you the Injuns was on the war-path. Now you know it, don't ye?" chuckled the renegade, triumphantly.

"What're you going to do with me?" persisted John.

"Keep you prisoner fer awhile; then burn you, maybe. You must ask Sloan Young. You are his game."

John saw the uselessness of further speech, and remained silent. He realized that he was in a truly perilous situation, and though he felt some natural uneasiness for himself, by far the greater share of his anxiety was for the peril that threatened Annie.

If Dusky Dick would act thus toward him, might he not do the same with others? Stevens shuddered convulsively as he realized the peril that threatened the family of his loved one, who were, as he believed, totally unsuspicious of the outbreak.

And then his fears were confirmed by the direction taken by his captors, they heading directly toward the point where the Wilson cabin was located. As if to put the matter entirely beyond doubt, Dusky Dick, after a few instructions to the leading red-skin, fell back to a position just in front of Stevens—the entire party proceeding in Indian file, as the narrow trail would not admit two abreast—and tauntingly uttered:

"As you said you was goin' on to Wilson's, I thought I'd give you a escort, like. Don't you feel highly honored? You hed ought, anyhow," and he chuckled grimly.

"You are not—" faltered John, his blood chilling at the significant tone of the renegade.

"Ain't I? but I am, too. Thought you'd be lonely, a captyve by yourself, so we've concluded to give you comp'ny. But don't count on too much. Annie's fer me. You must be 'tented with the men critters, onless you take the old gal."

John uttered a hoarse growl of anger, and would have sprung upon his tormentor, bound though his hands were, had not the guard behind him divined his intentions and drew him forcibly back. This showed Stevens the folly of allowing his passions to get the better of him, and so he kept silence, while Dusky Dick malignantly resumed:

"Yas, Annie's mine. That's settled, for good. She'll make a nice squaw—don't you think so? Anyhow, I'm goin' to resk it. But t'others—well, they'll prob'ly git jest the same as you will—'ither knocked on the head decently, or else used fer a bonfire, jest to 'mind the reds o' old times, when roasted white men warn't an uncommon dish.

"But you don't talk. Deaf, ain't ye? Or be you thinkin' o' the folks at home? Need it, they do. You said Bob-tailed Horse was there, didn't you? Well, he was sent there; and, what's more, he was sent thar by Sloan Young, and he ain't hurt no more'n you be, not a bit! He was sent thar to open the door at the night time, so 't the reds could walk in quietly. It's nearly time fer the blow, too, as your folks go to bed airly. I wonder how they'll feel by mornin'?" and Dusky Dick laughed ferociously.

Stevens shuddered, but did not reply. He knew that Bob-tailed Horse would scarcely admit his red brethren, but then there was other danger. He knew that Fred would try and persuade the family to hasten over to his house, and he—John—had evidence that the trail was thickly beset by dangers.

Besides the band that held him a captive, Stevens had heard enough to know that Sloan Young was also lying near at hand, only awaiting the proper time to spring his trap upon the "people of the great rock." Might not Fred also stumble upon one of these parties?

Dusky Dick was not a little provoked at the ill-success of his taunting boasts, but soon desisted, and once more made his way to the front, as the party were now rapidly nearing the cabin of Edward Wilson. Their caution increased, and the party glided along the shadowy path, like some grim forest hunter.

John was not idle, however. He resolved to escape, if it lay in human power, as he felt that to remain captive was equivalent to death, more or less speedy; and he might yet be able to accomplish something. If too late to save the Wilson family, he might be of use to his own people.

He worked assiduously upon the bonds that confined his hands. They were of tanned buckskin, and defied his utmost efforts to break them. The endeavor only resulted in abrading the skin of his wrists.

The knots appeared to be tied securely, and would neither slip nor come untied. It seemed as though his hopes were doomed to be frustrated by this one fact. And yet he did not give way to despair or cease his efforts, only keeping them concealed—as he was enabled to do by the darkness beneath the trees—from the red-skins before and behind him.

Now the little party stood upon the verge of the clearing surrounding the cabin of Edward Wilson, and peered curiously out upon it. An Indian grasped John firmly by the neck, and rested one hand upon his lips, evidently resolved that he should give no alarm.

All was quiet around the dwelling. There was no light within the building, and it seemed as though the inmates had retired to rest, with their usual feeling of security. Dusky Dick uttered a fiendish laugh.

"You see," he muttered in John's ear, "your friends don't expect visitors to-night. They will be agreeably surprised—I guess not—when we wake them up. But, still, it may be a trap, and you must guard us from it. Now I am goin' to make you walk jest afore me, and, mind you, I have a long knife—long enough, anyhow, to reach your heart—ready for use at the slightest sound from your lips. And I will use it, too, if you give a single word or sign to alarm them."

In a few words Dusky Dick made known his plans to his followers, and they expressed approval of it. John was brought to the front and Dusky Dick crouched behind him. Then the others strung out in a row, so that any shot from the house would miss them all, unless first striking the young settler.

"Now, step out, young feller," muttered Dusky Dick, pricking Stevens slightly with the point of his bared knife, "and remember that if you rouse them up, their first shot must take you. Pleasant, ain't it?" and he again gave vent to a fiendish laugh.

John dared not remonstrate, and obeyed the impulse given him by the renegade, slowly advancing toward the log-cabin. Nearly two hundred yards of clearing had to be traversed, and as may be imagined, it was a trying ordeal for the young man's nerves, who knew not at what moment a shot from his friends might sound his death-knell.

But in this he was agreeably disappointed, for the side of the cabin was gained in safety. Not a sound broke the stillness that filled the clearing, save the usual hum and chirping of the summer insects. A silence as of death seemed upon every thing.

Dusky Dick advanced to the door and gently rapped with his knuckles. No answer; only the echo of the knock replied. Again and again he repeated it, with the same result.

A glad hope sprung up in the heart of the young settler. He believed that the family had taken alarm and sought safety in flight.

This same idea struck Dusky Dick, and he thumped loudly upon the door. Then with a wild, angry cry he rushed forcibly against it. Still no answering sound broke the silence.

"The birds have flown!" uttered a savage, in a tone of disgust.

"Break down the door and let's see," cried Dusky Dick, with a bitter oath.

A simultaneous rush of several sturdy forms, broke down the fastenings of the door, and then Dusky Dick rushed into the house. He could hear no signs of its being occupied, and then hastily struck a light. As the glare filled the room, an angry roar broke from his lips.

The floor was strewn with various articles, whose disorder told of great haste; that told the renegade his anticipated victims had indeed taken the alarm and had fled from the impending peril. Now he bitterly cursed his folly in leaving the building unguarded, after his vain attempt at compromise.

"Git torches and hunt fer sign," he cried, as he stirred up the embers that still glowed in the huge fireplace. "They can't have gone far in this little time. Quick! we will find them yet!"

In a few moments a number of the Indians had secured torches, and were searching the ground without for some trace to tell them the direction taken by the fugitives. Meanwhile Dusky Dick had hastily searched through the building, and confirmed this belief. They were indeed gone.

CHAPTER IV.

A TERRIBLE SURPRISE.

Tobe Castor sat down to the table and without ceremony began what he would have termed a "square meal", eating as though his whimsical assertion was true—that he had not eaten a bite for two weeks. Evidently he was not a man to be disturbed by trifles, and who threw his entire energies into one thing at a time.

Edward Wilson conversed earnestly with his wife and daughter, telling the tidings imparted by their friend, the old hunter. He asked their advice, for, like a sensible man, he did not think it derogatory to his manhood, to consult one of the "weaker sex."

"What does Tobe say?" asked Mrs. Wilson.

"He says thet you hed better jest git up an' git, while you kin," replied that worthy, as emphatically as the crowded state of his mouth would admit. "They've got a dead open an' shet on ye, 's long's you stay hyar. Dusky Dick wouldn't 'a' shot off his mouth thet a-way, unless he had some one nigh to back him up. An' I know the pesky imps hez riz, down furder; an' it stands to reason that it'll spread up this a-way, whar thar's a few skelps to be got, 'thout much resk. So I say—mosey!"

"But where—which way? If, as you say, the Indians have broken out below us, they must be between here and the settlements—at least such as are strong enough to offer any hope of safety."

"Jest so, Ed; but see. The longer you wait the wusser it'll be. An' it'll keep a-spreadin', natur'ly, up this a-way. Ef you start now, you stand a chaince o' gittin' through. Ef you wait ontil to-morrer—providin' Dusky Dick don't put in his oar, afore—it'll be wuss, a heap. Dog-on it! You must start to-night!" earnestly added Castor.

"But Fred—he is not here, and we can't leave him."

"No more shall you. My plan's this. Say we gits out o' here, an' a'terwards Dusky Dick gives the cabin a call, an' finds us gone. Won't he natur'ly s'pose you've struck out fer the settlements? An' won't he look fer us in thet direction? In course he will. So much fer so much, then.

"We'll take the hosses an' start in thet d'rection fust. Fer it's more'n likely they'll hunt fer our trail by torchlight, ontil they set the p'int we head torst. Then they'll set off to run us down. So we must go fur enough on critter-back to fool 'em, thet way. Then we'll turn 'round an' strike back in a crooked route, torst the Stevens shanty, find Fred, tell our yarn, an' take the hull caboodle with us.

"We kin take a turn ag'in, an' then by hard ridin', make up fer lost time. Ef we're ahead o' those imps by day, then we're all right fer them. We must take the chances 'bout t'others. But I think we kin work it. Thar—thet's my plan; what d' you think o' it, anyhow?" demanded Castor, arising from the table.

The party were silent. They could see no other way, and yet this one seemed full of danger. But indeed, if the rising of the Indians in insurrection was a fact, which way could they turn without incurring danger?

So this plan was finally acquiesced to, and the work of preparation for flight commenced. Castor and Wilson set about saddling the horses, while the women packed food and extra clothing, with such little articles of value that they could not bring themselves to abandon, in small and compact bundles.

They worked as if for dear life, and but a few minutes were consumed ere all was pronounced ready for a start. Castor had taken a hurried scout along the route they proposed to follow, and discovered nothing suspicious.

There were only four horses, but Tobe scornfully declared that he would none of them; that he never yet met the four-footed animal that he could not wear out, on foot. But he advised them to take the extra one along for Fred's use.

Then after a few words of caution, he led the way from the clearing, and they entered the gloomy forest, leaving the home that had sheltered them for two years, with sensations of choking regret. It seemed like parting with some near and dear friend.

The trail was narrow and winding, and frequently the riders were forced to stoop low down in their saddles, to avoid the pendent boughs, but to offset this, they had the advantage of knowing the route thoroughly, from so often traversing it. Tobe Castor led the way with long, swinging strides, that forced the horses to their best walking, to avoid being distanced.

There was urgent need of haste, as they understood matters to be, for Fred might return to the deserted house, before they would have time to gain Stevens', if any delay occurred. And unsuspecting the threatening peril—as they believed—he might run into an ambush and be either killed or captured by the red-skins.

"We've gone fur a plenty," said Tobe, when nearly a half-mile had been traversed. "We must strike fer the other shanty now, or we mought miss Fred. Take keer fer your heads, now, as thar hain't any trail the way we must go."

"Ain't you afraid of losing the way, Tobe? It's so dark," muttered Wilson.

"Nary time I ain't. Lose nothin'! Me? Git out! Wasn't I raised in the woods? Couldn't I smell my way, even ef I was blinded? In course I kin. Don't be skeered 'bout thet, Ned. I'll take you as straight thar as a drunken Injun's trail—fer you know we've got to go mighty crooked through the dark, on this bresh. Now keep cluss together and don't make no n'ise. Don't holler out, even ef the limbs saws your heads off. 'Tain't nothin'—a'ter you git used to it."

The guide hurried abruptly to his left, and strode rapidly along, holding onto the bridle of the horse ridden by Mrs. Wilson. After her came Annie, with Wilson bringing up the rear, leading the spare horse.

Owing to the darkness, considerable noise was unavoidably made, but as they soon gained a point at a fair distance from the trail Castor believed there was but little danger of being overheard. As a matter of course, he reasoned that such Indians—and he fell fully assured that there were more or less in the neighborhood, from the bold threats of Dusky Dick—as were lurking around, would naturally keep near the main trail, as the two families were all living within some miles of that point.

Thus he pressed on through the woods at a good pace, for now time was precious. A long road lay before them, and unless a certain distance could be gained before day-dawn, he believed their chances of ultimate escape would be faint indeed.

The riders found that his warning was well founded, for more than once they were almost brushed from their saddles, by the low-hanging boughs, and only by lying almost flat along their horses' necks, could they proceed with any degree of safety. Then their animals were mainly left to their own guidance, but naturally followed close in the footsteps of the one led by Castor.

For several miles the fugitives proceeded in this manner, which was inexpressibly wearisome, and more than once had Wilson urged Castor to seek the trail leading direct to the cabin of Wesley Stevens. But the guide refused, as it would be incurring foolish risk. The unbroken woods were far safer in his estimation.

But their journey was not to be completed without interruption, and one soon came that threatened serious consequences. It occurred in this manner.

As they were proceeding at a fair gait, a bright flash spouted forth from one side of the little party, at only a few yards' distance, and mingled with sharp report, came the spiteful hum of a ragged bullet as it hurtled close to the head of Mrs. Wilson. Then a loud, fierce yell broke upon their hearing.

The horses were badly frightened by these sudden and unexpected sounds, and broke loose from all control, wildly plunging on through the woods. And the voice of Castor was heard, crying:

"Keep together, an' let the animiles went! Foller me!"

Fleet-footed as a deer, he sprung forward and clutched the bridle-rein that had been wrenched from his grasp; then ran beside the horse, now leading the way. Occasionally he would raise his voice—knowing that, if they were indeed followed, this could not add to their peril, as the loud crashing made by the affrighted animals could be heard further than his cries—and it was essential that none of the party should become separated from the others.

For nearly a mile this headlong race was maintained, and then Castor suddenly checked the horse he was guiding. He could hear nothing of any pursuer, and had resolved that now, if ever, was the time to throw any such off the scent.

"Is it all right, Ed?" he anxiously cried, approaching Wilson.

"Yes—I believe so. Is Mary hurt?"

"No—I am safe. But Annie—where is she?" replied Mrs. Wilson, breathlessly.

"Here—I caught her horse as it ran past. Are you hurt, Annie?"

There came no answer, and Wilson repeated the inquiry, in wondering alarm. Tobe Castor sprung forward with a cry, and stood beside the horse.

It was dark and gloomy there, in the forest depths, where the thickly-crested tree-tops effectually prevented the moon's rays from falling on the earth, and nothing could be seen. The sense of feeling must be depended upon, merely.

Castor reached out and touched the snorting horse. It trembled like a leaf. He called aloud on Annie's name, but she did not answer.

His hands fell upon the saddle. It was empty—Annie was gone!

The old scout uttered a low cry and staggered back. The blow was a fearful one, and he felt it as though the lost one had been his own child.

"My God! Castor, what is it?" gasped Wilson, alarmed at the tone of the hunter, and bending forward in the saddle as though he would pierce the dense obscurity with his distended eyeballs.

"The gal is gone!"

Mrs. Wilson uttered a low, gasping groan, and reeled in her seat. Tobe sprung forward and caught her sinking form lowering her gently to the ground. In a moment Wilson was beside her, half-distracted by the terrible events that pressed so closely upon them.

"Give her a sup o' this," gloomily said Castor, producing a small flask of whisky. "'Tain't no time fer faintin' now. We've got our hands full 'thout thet."

"What must we—what can we do?" cried the father, chokingly, as he strove to revive the fainting woman.

"Work—work like blazes. No use goin' furder ontil we find thet gal; ef it kin be did. Ef—it must be did! Thunder! I'll find her ef I hev to take an' rip the hull teetotal kentry through my old hat! See 'f I don't, now," and Castor spoke with strong emphasis.

Mrs. Wilson now gave signs of returning consciousness. Strong-nerved, she was not one to yield long to any misfortune, however heavy and bitter it might be.

"Now, Ed," added Tobe, thoughtfully, "this is what we must do. You may stay here with her an' the hosses, 'ca'se we may need them afore long. I'll go back 'long the trail as we kem by, an' look fer the gal. She must 'a' bin knocked off by some pesky limb, an' won't hev gone fur. I'll find her, never fear."

"But the Indians—those who fired at us? They may have found her," faltered Wilson.

"'Tain't likely, fer I didn't hear thar yell as they'd 'a' give ef they hed. I don't think they'd notice her tumble a-tall. An' then ag'in, I don't think thar was more'n one or two, or they'd 'a' follered us closter. Most likely jest a stray, prowlin' critter, who run jest as soon's he shot at us."

"I hope so—but why can't we all go?"

"Don't be a fool, now, Ed, don't. S'posin' thar was a wheen o' reds nigh, wouldn't we look nice a-blunderin' right spang into 'em? They'd hear us a-comin', an' then lay fer us. Then whar'd we be? No, sir. Whatever's did I must do, alone, by myself. You must stay here to keep her comp'ny—onless, indeed, you keep right on to the shanty fer Fred. Which is it?"

"No, we must not leave Annie—Fred is a man, and better able to take care of himself. We will wait here."

"All right, then. But fust, wait ontil I find a better place fer ye to lay low in than this," and Castor started away from the spot.

"Is Annie gone, Edward?" murmured Mrs. Wilson feebly.

"Yes—but Tobe says he can find her. She is safe, I believe, but was brushed off the horse's back. He will find her never fear."

"Here ye be, folks," muttered the old hunter, as he returned. "Kin you walk a leetle, Mary?"

"Yes, I can; I think."

"Holp her, Ed, while I take the animiles. Foller me."

In a few moments the refuge was gained; a sort of natural bower, where, even by the light of day, a casual observer would scarcely have noticed their presence, and in the darkness, unless some noise should betray them, an entire tribe of red-skins might have passed within arm's-length of the covert, without suspecting their presence.

"You stay here an' keep still. Don't move or speak 'bove a cat's whisper, ontil I come back. I'll give the call o' the night-hawk twicet. You know it, Ed?"

"Yes, but be—"

Tobe did not wait to hear the conclusion of this sentence, but turned and glided away. His mind was far from being at ease, although he had endeavored to cheer up the fugitives with a confidence he was far from possessing, as he knew that it was no time for despondency.

He knew that Annie had most likely been knocked from the saddle by a limb, and that she might have received such injury as prevented her crying out. And then again she might have suddenly been pounced upon by the one who had fired the treacherous shot, and taken prisoner before she could give the alarm.

If hurt, the chances were against his finding her, in the darkness, and to await the light of day would be perilous in the extreme, now that the vicinity of deadly enemies was put beyond a doubt. Still he did not entirely despair; it was not his nature to do so, while breath remained.

Tobe glided along cautiously, seeming to avoid collision with the thickly-growing tree-trunks and bushes by instinct, keeping as near as he could tell, in the trace of their wild flight. His hearing was keenly alert, and he looked for some signs or sounds to tell him whether the hidden horseman had followed them or not.

But he reached a point near where the alarm had been given the horses, without seeing or hearing aught to confirm either his suspicions or hopes. Then he paused to listen more intently.

His lips compressed tightly and one hand sought the haft of his ready knife, as he heard the sound of faint footfalls, apparently approaching him. Still he did not speak or move, not knowing whether friend or foe advanced.

The steps sounded more and more distinct, until Tobe felt assured that the comer was not the girl he sought: the tread was too regular and deliberate for that of a frightened wanderer. Then who could it be but a foe?

A dark form appeared outlined against the less opaque atmosphere, within a few feet of the crouching scout. With knife drawn, Castor reached out, and finding a small twig, snapped it with a sharp noise.

A low guttural exclamation came from the figure, and it started back as if in alarm. That satisfied Castor, who sprung forward with a low howl of anger.

His arms closed around a brawny form, but a quick motion rendered the knife-stroke futile, and then they fell to the ground together, battling fiercely for the mastery. Their arms were twined around each other, so that their knives were of little use.

It was now a struggle for life or death!

CHAPTER V.

THE BURNING CABIN.

A dim, shadowy, phantom-like chain flitting silently through the forest depths. A living chain, composed of human beings—at least in outward semblance—bent upon an errand of bloodshed and death.

They pause at the edge of a considerable clearing, and gaze out upon it. A rude log-cabin stands here at the foot of a good-sized hill. In the darkness, it seems as though there were two buildings, but one is a huge square bowlder. A mass of rock that has puzzled many to tell where it came from. It gives a name to the cabin and its owners, "the people of the lodge by the great rock."

The cabin is the one where we met the Stevens family. The human chain is led by One Eye—Sloan Young, the half-breed heretofore alluded to. He and his comrades have come here to perform their part of the bloody plan, to further which the Indian, Bob-tailed Horse, had been sent to gain admittance into the cabin.

"It is nearly time," muttered One Eye, in the Sioux dialect.

"Yes, the pale-faces are asleep before now," added one of the Indians.

"We will not wait any longer. Come, let us go," and One Eye entered the clearing and glided stealthily toward the cabin that stood silent and gloomy in the shadow of the hill.

The half-breed paused when beside the rude structure and uttered a call; one common to that place and time of year—the cry of the night-hawk. Then he stepped forward and pressed gently against the door.

To his surprise it did not yield. He again uttered the signal, upon which the traitor was to throw wide the door, but still without the desired result.

"The fool has drank fire-water until his brain is asleep! He has forgotten his duty," angrily hissed the half-breed.

"It is growing late and our weapons are hungry for white blood. Let us break open the lodge. They can do nothing," muttered the Indian who had spoken before, who was evidently of higher rank than the others who stood silently behind him.

"We can do it. One rush will overpower them. But remember—the young squaw must not be harmed. She is mine—for my squaw," earnestly added Young.

"It is well. One Eye shall have her," and then the chief spoke a few words to his followers, who drew together and made a heavy rush against the door.

It flew open so suddenly that one-half their number fell in a sprawling heap upon the floor, half-way across the room. Then with wild yells and cries Young and the chief sprung over their forms, and glared around for their anticipated victims.

But where were they? Why did not their cries of wild alarm and terror break forth upon the air? Surely there had been noise enough made to awaken them from the soundest slumber!

Raging furiously, Young rushed into the second room, but silence met him there, as well. He could no longer doubt the truth.

"A light—quick!" he snarled fiercely, in his rage speaking in English. "They cain't all hev gone. Cusses on that drunken fool!"

A light was speedily struck, and applied to a heap of clothing that lay upon the floor. As the blaze shot up, the interior of the cabin was rendered visible. Here, as at Wilson's, the disordered furniture and various articles strewn about the floor, told of a hasty and recent flight.

The half-breed quickly ran through the rooms, and found nothing there to wreak his fury upon. The loft, likewise, was empty. His anger and disappointment was fearful.

Led by him the Indians procured lights and ran outside to find, if possible, some trace of the fugitives. While some searched for a trail, others sought among the brush and hollows along the hillside, in the faint hope that the fugitives had sought shelter there.

A faint ruddy glow now appeared upon the sky in the south-east, growing momentarily more vivid and clear. One of the Indians pointed it out to Sloan Young, who replied with a diabolical grin:

"It is the work of Dusky Dick. He has had better fortune than we."

Then as if this sight had reminded him of it, the renegade ran to the building and stirred up the dying fire, piling on clothes, bed-ticks, furniture and every thing movable, that would burn. Then he retreated once more, uttering a fiendish yell of delight.

Soon the flames burst through the open doorway, roaring and crackling as though in high glee at thus being turned loose to work its will. A torch was applied to the straw-thatched stables, and then as the affrighted stock ran lowing or neighing around their corrals, the dusky demons shot them down, uttering wild yells of diabolical exultation.

But the half-breed and his chief glided around, striving to decipher the meaning of the many tracks that covered the ground. They were moving toward the forest, where their own party had not so defaced the ground with their trampling to and fro, when an unexpected sound startled them.

It was a cry, long and unearthly, seeming like, yet unlike a human voice. But if indeed one, then it must proceed from some person either in agonizing pain or mortal terror.

Again and again it came to their ears, with increasing distinctness, and even more startling than at first. And the dusky crowd glanced at each other in mute alarm.

They knew not what to make of it. Wherever they turned, from that point the horrible shrieks seemed to issue. If they looked, it appeared to come down from the skies.

The savages ceased their work of barbarous destruction and gathered together. They felt alarm, that was rapidly increasing, at they knew not what.

The chief was scarcely less impressed, but Sloan Young did not exhibit the same symptoms. His face was eagerly turned toward the blazing cabin, through whose roof the flames were now ascending. Then as another yell broke upon his hearing, he said:

"It is from the lodge! The pale-faces have hidden beneath it, and are being roasted alive!"

The terror of the savages quickly gave place to emotions of anger, at thus being cheated out of the coveted scalps. The heat was now too intense for them to accomplish any thing in the way of releasing the sufferers.

Then they started back with cries of wondering dismay. A shrill shriek of fearful torture rung out, and then a figure sprung from the fiery furnace and darted toward them; its arms flung wildly aloft, its garments dropping in charred fragments from its limbs.

Then with another long-drawn cry, it sunk to the ground, almost at the feet of Sloan Young. The half-breed bent over it, but shrunk back at the horrible stench of burning flesh that arose from the body. Still he had recognized the unfortunate, burned and disfigured though it was.

"It is Bob-tailed Horse!" he exclaimed, turning to the chief.

And such was the case. He had been cast down the pit bound and gagged, as detailed, but soon recovered his senses. There he lay until he heard the angry voices of his confederates above him, and heard himself blamed for the disappointment.

He strove to cry out, but the gag had been firmly applied and his limbs were useless. In striving to free himself, he rolled over upon his face.

Then he heard the ominous crackling above him, and the pungent smoke that soon came to his nostrils, told him of a new and fearful peril. And yet he was helpless to avert it. His bonds would not give, nor could he utter even a groan.

The heat increased until the sweat streamed from every pore. The air became so close and hot that he nearly suffocated. At every breath it was like inhaling molten lead.

His prison became lighter, and he knew that the floor was being burned through. And still he struggled to burst his bonds; strove in vain. The skin cracked and shriveled up beneath the intense heat, and his tortures were excruciating.

The floor above him was one mass of coals. Then cinders fell upon his bare neck, hot and glowing. He shook his head, but the coal adhered to the hissing flesh.

Another and another fell, until his body was literally covered with the blazing sparks. Either the cords had been weakened by fire, or else the torturing coals had given Bob-tailed Horse a fictitious strength, for with one mighty effort he burst them asunder, and snatching the gag from his mouth, uttered a wild cry for help.

His hair caught fire and blazed furiously about his face. His flesh was fairly hissing beneath the heat, and it seemed as though he was one mass of fire. He screamed and yelled with frantic fury.

He sprung upward and caught at one of the glowing sleepers. It broke beneath his weight, and he fell back, covered with the hotly-blazing debris. Again he sprung to his feet and essayed to gain the level floor; and again he fell back, screeching—dying.

More of the floor crumbled away, and then he sprung upon the edge of the narrow pit. With yet another cry, he fell forward upon his face in the glowing mass of coals.

He tottered to his feet and rushed blindly forward, sinking nearly knee-deep in the burning embers. He ran against the still standing logs and staggered back; his eyesight was gone.

But he did not fall, and sprung ahead once more. This time he emerged from the doorway, and then with a gasping yell, he fell to the ground.

And yet, after all this torture, he still lived. Though he had undergone enough to have killed a half-score of men, the spark of life still flickered faintly in his breast.

He knew he was among friends, and cried out for water. More from his gestures, than aught else, he was understood, and Young hastened to supply his wants. Not from motives of pity, but because he hoped to gain some valuable information from the dying wretch.

The spring was close by, and a hatful of cold water was brought the scarred and mangled sufferer. He drank it down eagerly and begged piteously for more.

"Tell me first," said One Eye, in the Sioux dialect, "where are the pale-faces?"

"Gone—water—water!" gasped the wretch.

"Where?" sternly cried Young. "Tell me all or you shall perish for want of a drop of water. Tell me and you shall have all you wish."

"Gone to—over there," was the husky reply.

"To Wilson's?" asked Young, in English.

"Yes—young brave tell 'um—they go—run 'way—"

One Eye sprung to his feet with a peculiar cry. He had learned all he wished.

"Water—water!" gasped the sufferer, but his plea was unheeded.

He could be of no further service to them. He might die a dog's death, as he had lived a dog's life. What cared they?

"Come—there is no time to lose. We must hasten or they will escape us yet. Follow me, and their scalps shall hang at our girdles before another sun!" yelled One Eye, as he dashed away from the burning cabin, closely followed by the savages, leaving the dying wretch as he lay, to gasp out his feeble remnant of life in fruitless appeals for water!

CHAPTER VI.

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.

As Dusky Dick turned from the loft, after his fruitless search, a loud, shrill yell from one of his braves without, told him that the trail had been found. He uttered a little cry of exultation and flung his blazing brand upon the bed, as he dashed out of doors.

The trail-hunters had found where the beasts had been mounted, and then from that point the tracks led in a straight line toward the forest. There seemed but one solution of this. The settler had taken alarm at the threats of Dusky Dick, and had resolved to journey to the lower settlements. The renegade bitterly cursed his precipitancy, and his folly in losing sight of his intended victims even for a moment, when the game was entirely in his own hands.

"Look! the lodge is burning!" exclaimed a savage, to Dusky Dick.

The brand the latter had thoughtlessly flung upon the bed had done its work. The flames were shooting up, leaping hither and thither, roaring and crackling as if in fiendish glee.

"Let it burn. It will shelter no more of our enemies," and he turned away with a grim smile.

John Stevens was standing near, under guard of two brawny braves, who kept a vigilant watch over him. His blood was boiling within him at this last act of wanton malignancy, but fortunately he controlled his anger before it broke forth into words, that, while they could do him no good, might be productive of harm, in the wrathful mood of his captors.

Dusky Dick now renewed his instructions to the guards to keep careful watch over the captive, and then set forward after such of his braves as were tracing out the course of the fugitives by torchlight. The hoof-tracks crossed the clearing, and entered the trail leading to the lower settlements.

Thus far it was plain sailing, and Dusky Dick thought he divined the plans of the fugitives. He believed they were pressing on at a hot pace for the safer country below, and resolved to give them chase.

He could not proceed rapidly enough by torchlight trailing, and indeed, knowing the lay of the country so well, he did not think there was any further need of this aid. On foot he could proceed much more rapidly than the fugitives upon horseback, through the tangled woods.

But it would be impossible to carry his prisoner along. There would be too great a risk of losing him, and besides, he would only delay them.

So Dusky Dick turned to the two guards and bade them take Stevens and hasten at once to the lodge by the great rock, where they were to deliver him to Sloan Young, according to the bargain already made. Then he and his braves dashed away at headlong speed along the trace.

Ever since his capture, John had been busy. He knew that unless he could effect his escape that night, his chances for life were very slim. He would die by torture, most probably, for Sloan Young was a bitter, relentless enemy.

His hands had been bound behind him with strong deer-skin thongs. Then another cord had been wound several times around his body, thus pinioning his arms close to his sides. It seemed as though escape from these bonds, unaided, was an impossibility.

John had thoroughly tested the strength of the thong securing his wrists, and knew that he could not break it while his arms were so confined that he could not exert his strength to any advantage. He saw that he must first rid himself of the cords around his arms and body.

And to this end he had been working since before the cabin was reached. While the search was being prosecuted, he had been backed up against the building's side by his captors. Here he had caught one of the cords upon a knot, and had succeeded in pulling it down over his hands; thus the most difficult part of the task was accomplished.

The rest was comparatively easy. The one turn, thus loosened, gradually divided its surplus with the others, until John could work his hands slightly up and down. When the party entered the woods, along the horse trail, only one cord bound his arms!

Then that slipped down, and during the consultation, John, with a quick, dextrous twist, brought his bound hands up over his head, and dropped them in front; the movement not being noticed in the gloom. Cautiously raising his hands, Stevens applied his strong, sharp teeth to the thongs, and though he had barely half a score moments to work in, he improved this time so well that the thong parted at a quick pull upon it.

His first impulse was to turn and flee for life, but that would be too great a risk, and the young settler had sufficient good sense to await a more favorable opportunity.

Then he was given to the two braves, to be conducted to the half-breed, One Eye. Stevens felt a thrill of delight at this, for he felt that his escape was all but assured. Surely, during the long three miles he could effect an escape, now that only two were left to guard him.

But a danger threatened him, that he had not foreseen. He was being led back to the blazing cabin, and once within the broad circle of light cast around it, it was highly probable one of the red-skins would notice that the cord was broken around his wrists.

However, that must be chanced, and as the young settler managed to screen the broken ends, holding them under his hands, again crossed behind his back, he believed they would pass muster. The clearing was entered, a red-skin walking upon either side of him, clutching a shoulder.

The building was now blazing furiously, and Stevens felt a choking sensation as he gazed upon it. Many a happy hour had he spent beneath that roof, with those who, for aught he knew to the contrary, might even then be lying cold and still in the embrace of death.

He strove manfully to banish these ideas, but was not entirely successful. There was a heavy weight at his heart, and a premonition of coming evil rested upon his spirit.

As the clearing was crossed, the cabin being left directly behind the trio, a low cry broke from John's lips. Before them, afar off, was a ruddy glow, lighting up the skies high above the tree-tops. It needed not a second glance to tell the young settler the meaning of this. The position plainly revealed that. It was the conflagration built by One Eye; the blazing of the second cabin.

The Indians urged John along rapidly. One walked before, the other behind, within arm's length of their prisoner. Evidently they did not intend throwing away a chance, but were resolved to convey him safely to his destination.

They had not proceeded far from the Wilson cabin, when the foremost Indian paused with a low hiss, and bent his ear toward the ground. To the right and front he could distinguish the tramp of horses' hoofs.

"Perhaps 'tis One Eye, crossing with horses captured from the people of the lodge by the great rock," muttered the savage, whose hand rested upon John's shoulder.

"It may be. Let Tichenet wait here with the pale-face, while Asamee goes to see," hastily muttered the other, arising and gliding away in the forest, choosing a course so as to intercept the horsemen, whoever they might be, leaving the other two where they stood.

John believed that the time had now come for him to make a bold stroke for freedom, assured that no other so good a chance would be given him. And so, while waiting for Asamee to gain a safe distance, he entirely freed his hands.

Stealing a glance at his guard, Stevens saw that one hand rested upon a knife-haft, while his head was bent in an attitude of acute attention. His thoughts were mainly with his comrade, and the probable issue of his venture.

Stevens tightly clenched his hand, and gently drew it back. Suddenly there came a startling interruption. A clear, spiteful crack echoed through the forest, slowly followed by a wild, shrill yell, unmistakably that of an Indian, probably that of Asamee, as the direction corresponded with the one taken by him.

Tichenet uttered a low cry, and, dropping his grasp from the prisoner's shoulder, he started forward a pace, his nostrils dilating like those of a hound upon a breast-high scent. The golden opportunity was offered, and John was not a man to neglect it.

His wiry right arm shot out, the tightly-clenched fist alighting full beneath the red-skin's unguarded ear, felling him to the ground like a dog, the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. Stevens did not trust to this, but sprung upon the senseless form, plucking the half-drawn knife from the nerveless grasp, he drove it deep down into the red-skin's broad breast.

Then John seized the fallen rifle, assuring himself it had received no injury; after which he secured the ammunition and belt, placing in it, when buckled around his waist, the knife and hatchet of his dead foe. He could scarcely restrain a cry of exultation, as he felt himself once more a free man, provided with means of offense or defense, as the occasion might require.

There was no need to repeat the blow. It had been delivered by a true and strong hand. The red-skin's heart was literally cloven in twain.

John paused and listened intently. He could hear no sounds save the usual ones of a summer night in the forest; the hum of countless insects, the chirp of the tree-toad, the sighing of the gentle breeze amid the tree-tops.

He knew that his friends were somewhere in the forest; the two blazing cabins told him that, but just where, he had no means of knowing. But he believed the party fired at by Asamee—if indeed it was his rifle they had heard—were none other than his relatives, under convoy of Fred Wilson, who had taken horses and were hastening toward the cabin he had so lately left.

But surely they must have noted the glare of the blazing building, and it would tell them that foes were, or had lately been there. Then they would naturally give it a wide berth, which would account for their being off the main trail.

Still, John thought it strange he heard no further sounds. If they had fired at Asamee, why did not that worthy return? His yell had come after the shot; neither was it a death-cry. That much Stevens felt confident of.

"John Stevens, you're a fool!" he disgustedly muttered, apostrophizing himself, after a brief hesitation. "If you want to find out, why don't you go where you can, instead of standing here like a simpleton."

Acting upon this sensible advice, John turned and glided from the blood-stained trace into the forest, as nearly as he could guess, in a direct line toward the point from whence had proceeded the alarm. But the delay had somewhat confused him, and he bore considerably to the left.

He was forced to advance slowly, for fear of coming into unexpected collision with Asamee, and some little time was consumed ere he gained the vicinity—as he believed—of the spot. Then he remained silent, listening intently for some sound to tell him how matters stood.

After what seemed an age—but in reality, only a few moments—he fancied he could distinguish a faint rustling noise, at only a few yards' distance; but if so, the person, whoever it might be, was going from him, as the next moment he lost the sound entirely. John felt if his weapons were in readiness for use, and then glided forward, as noiselessly as possible, toward the point from whence had proceeded the suspicious noise.

Again he heard the sound, and now could quite plainly distinguish the fall of irregular footsteps, evidently made by a human being. Believing they were those of Asamee, and burning to wreak a bitter revenge upon him for the threats and abuse he had so plentifully bestowed upon him when a captive, Stevens drew his knife and followed the footsteps, displaying considerable skill for one so little versed in woodcraft as he was, making scarcely more noise than the velvet-pawed panther when stealing upon its prey.

In this manner John had proceeded for several hundred yards, then growing warm in the chase, pressed on with more speed than caution, eager to bring affairs to a termination. Suddenly the sound of footsteps ceased, and he imitated the movement.

But it was quite evident that he had been heard, despite his promptness, and that the fugitive had taken the alarm, for the sound was almost immediately resumed, this time evidencing more speed and less caution than before. Stevens sprung forward, determined to overtake the fugitive at all hazards.

It was a difficult matter, this running through the tangled woods, but above the noise made by himself, Stevens could hear that of the other, showing that both had to encounter the same difficulties. Then came a low, gasping cry—a heavy fall, and then John was upon the fugitive, with knife uplifted to deal the fatal blow.

But the gleaming weapon descended harmlessly, and also a cry of wonder broke from his lips as he touched the prostrate form. He felt the flowing drapery of a woman's dress!

"Mercy—mercy!" gasped the latter, in a voice trembling with fear and apprehension.

That voice! How well John knew it! No danger of his confounding it with any other.

"Annie—you here!" he uttered, in a tone of wondering surprise.

"Mercy—have mercy!"

It was evident that the maiden did not recognize his voice. Her terror construed it into that of a deadly foe, thirsting for her life.

"Annie—don't you know me? It is John—John Stevens," and he bent over the prostrate and trembling form, winding his arms tenderly about her, pressing his lips to her cold brow.

It was the first time he had ever ventured so far, but the strange and exciting circumstances must be his excuse. And the course, too, answered a good purpose, for the maiden recognized him then, and with a low cry, flung her arms around his neck, sobbing hysterically.

The trying events, the sudden alarm, the heavy fall and shock, the long chase and agony of feeling herself lying helplessly at the mercy of a vindictive enemy, had proved too much for the usually strong, self-reliant spirit of the girl. She had been a heroine once that night; now she was only a weak and trembling woman.

"John—thank God!" murmured Annie, sobbing from excess of joy. "I thought it was an Indian."

"No, it is me," he added; a rather needless assertion, but he was hardly accountable for his words or actions then, as he clasped the lovely form closely to his breast, and pressed more than one fervent kiss upon her lips, now unresisting.

But then Annie started up with a little cry. The truth had flashed upon her mind, and brought her back once more to the stern realities of this life.

"I forgot—my father, mother—where are they?"

"Don't you know? Where did they leave you? And you have not told me how it is I find you here alone, at night," added John, curiously.

"We were afraid of the Indians, and left home, intending to call for your folks and then try to reach the lower settlements. But something—somebody shot at us and frightened the horses. Mine ran beneath a low limb, and I was brushed from his back. The fall must have stunned me for a time, because I heard nothing more of them. Then as I got up and walked away, trying to find where they went, I heard you after me, and thought it was an Indian. The rest you know," hurriedly explained the maiden.

"I'm afraid we're all in a bad fix, Annie. If you look, you can see the light from your house now. Dusky Dick set it on fire. Our home is on fire, too. No—don't be frightened; the folks were not in it. Fred came there and alarmed us, and I started on ahead to tell your folks the news, but got captured by the Indians. Fred said he would bring on the others to your house, when we all could go together."

"And father is on the way up there! He will get killed—I know it!"

"You said Tobe Castor was with them?"

"Yes; he came just before dark."

"Then he will save them from that. He is too old and cunning to walk blindly into such a scrape. But you I am troubled the most about now."

"Hark!" whispered Annie, as a startling sound broke the stillness of the air.

It was a loud, hoarse shout, closely followed by a shrill yell; and then the confused noise as of a mortal struggle between strong men. John quickly divined the cause.

"It is your friends, returned to look for you. They have met the Indian who was with the one I killed. Do you stay here, while I go forward and help them."

"No, I will go along," and then the young couple glided rapidly toward the spot from whence proceeded the confused sounds.

It was indeed as John had surmised. Tobe Castor had come into collision with Asamee, and, well matched in point of strength and dexterity, they were now rolling over the ground in a life and death grapple.