LITMIR.BIZ

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the massive jaw, the pointed chin, and, as Phil drew nearer, the expression of hate and defiance that was the dominant note of his countenance. Truly, this Black Panther of the slums had undergone a prairie change, a wonderful change that was complete.

      Woodfall, Middleton, and Phil rode slowly up the second swell, and approached the chief, for such they could not doubt now that he was. Still he did not move, but sat upon his horse, gravely regarding them. Phil was quite sure that Black Panther remembered him, but he was not sure that he would admit it.

      "You wish to speak with us," said Middleton, who in such a moment naturally assumed the position of leader.

      "To give you a message," replied Black Panther in good English. "I have given you two messages already, and this is the third."

      "The arrows," said Middleton.

      "Yes, the Comanche arrows," continued the chief. "I thought that the white men would read the signs, and perhaps they did."

      "What do you wish of us?" said Middleton. "What is this message which you say you now deliver for the third time?"

      The chief drew himself up with a magnificent gesture, and, turning a little, moved his shield arm with a wide sweeping gesture toward the West.

      "I say, and I say it in behalf of the great Comanche nation, 'Go back.' The country upon which you come belongs to the Comanches. It is ours, and the buffalo and the deer and the antelope are ours. I say to you turn back with your wagons and your men."

      The words were arrogant and menacing to the last degree. A spark leaped up in Middleton's eye, but he restrained himself.

      "We are but peaceful traders going to Santa Fé," he said.

      "Peaceful traders to-day, seizers of the land to-morrow," said the Comanche chief. "Go back. The way over the Comanche country is closed."

      "The plains are vast," said Middleton mildly. "One can ride hundreds of miles, and yet not come to the end. Many parts of them have never felt the hoof of a Comanche pony. The plains do not belong to the Comanches or to anybody else."

      "They are ours," repeated the chief. "We tell you to go back. The third warning is the last."

      "If we still come on, what would you do?" said Middleton.

      "It is war," replied Black Panther. "You will not reach Santa Fé, and you will not go back to New Orleans. The Comanches will welcome you to their plains with the arrows from their bows and the bullets from their rifles."

      "Be it so," said Middleton, continuing his calm, even tone. "We have not come so far merely to turn back. The Comanche welcome of bullets and arrows may greet us, but we are strong men, and for any welcome that may be given to us we shall always repay. Is it not so, Mr. Woodfall?"

      Woodfall nodded.

      "Give that answer to your tribe," said Middleton, speaking in firm tones, and looking the chief squarely in the eyes. "We have started to Santa Fé, and there we go. The Comanche nation has not enough warriors to turn us back."

      A spark of fire seemed to leap from the chief's eye, but he made no other demonstration.

      "I have given you the third and last warning," he said. "Now I go."

      He raised the shield in a sort of salute, and, without a word, turned and rode away. The three sat on their horses, looking at him. When he had gone about two hundred yards he paused a moment, fitted an arrow to his bow, shot it almost straight up into the air, and then, uttering a long fierce whoop, galloped away over the plain.

      The Indian's cry was sinister, ominous of great dangers, and its meaning sank deeply on Phil's heart. A peculiar shiver ran down his backbone, and the little pulses in his temples began to beat. He did not doubt for a moment that the warning of the Comanche was black with storm. He watched the sinister figure becoming smaller and smaller, until it turned into a dark blur, then a dot, and then was seen no more in the vast, gray-green expanse.

      The incident seemed to have sunk deep into the minds of the other two, also, and they rode gravely and in silence back to the train, which was now drawn up in one great group on the crest of the swell. The men, keen borderers most of them, had divined the significance of what they saw, but they crowded around the three for more definite information. Woodfall told them briefly. He knew their temper, but he thought it best to put the question and to put it fairly.

      "Men," he said, "we are undoubtedly threatened with an attack. The Comanches are numerous, brave, and cunning. I will not conceal from you those facts. A fight with them will mean loss to us, and, even if we win that fight, as I am sure we will, they will attack again. Now, if any want to turn back, let them do so. All who wish to go back, say 'I'."

      He paused. There was a dead silence throughout the train. The corners of Woodfall's lips curved a little into a slow smile.

      "Those who wish to go on, Comanche or no Comanche, say 'Yes,'" he cried.

      A single "Yes" was thundered out from scores of throats, and many of the more enthusiastic raised their rifles and shook them.

      "I thought so," said Woodfall quietly, and then he added in a louder voice: "Forward!"

      Fifty whips cracked like so many rifle shots. The wagons creaked and moved forward again, and by their side rode the armed horsemen. They descended the slope, rose to the crest of the next swell, where the Comanche horseman had stood, and then passed on, over wave after wave into the unbroken gray-green expanse of the West. There was nothing before them but the plains, with a bunch of buffalo grazing far off to the right, and a herd of antelope grazing far off to the left. The ominous spell that the Indian had cast seemed to have vanished with him so far as the great majority of the men were concerned. But Phil and his immediate comrades did not forget.

      "The words of that Indian, as you have delivered them to me, linger in my mind, young Sir Philip of the Plains," said Bill Breakstone, "but I am glad he took the trouble to give us a warning. A stitch in time may save the lives of nine good men.

      "Give me the word

      That harm you mean,

      Then my good sword

      I take, I ween.

      "At least that poem is short and to the point, Sir Philip. And now I think me that to-morrow about the noon hour, if we should maintain our present pace, we cross a river known variously to the different Indian tribes, but muddy, deep, and flowing between high banks. The crossing will be difficult, and I ought to tell Woodfall about it."

      "By all means," said Middleton, "and I can tell you, Breakstone, that I already wish we were safely on the other side of that river."

      They camped that night in the open plain. There was a good moonlight, but the watch was doubled, the most experienced frontiersmen being posted as sentinels. Yet the watchers saw nothing. They continuously made wide circles about the camp, but the footprint of neither man nor horse was to be seen. The day dawned, cold and gray with lowering skies, and, before the obscure sun was an hour above the plain, the train resumed its march, Woodfall, Middleton, Breakstone, Phil, and Arenberg riding in a little group at the head.

      "How far on do you say is this river?" asked Woodfall.

      "We should strike it about noon," replied Breakstone, repeating his statement of the day before. "It is narrow and deep, and everywhere that I have seen it the banks are high, but we ought to find somewhere a slope for a crossing."

      "Is it wooded?" asked Middleton.

      "Yes, there are cottonwoods, scrub oaks, bushes, and tall grass along either bank."

      "I'm sorry for that," said Woodfall.

      Phil knew perfectly well what they meant, but he kept, silent, although his heart began to throb. The other three also fell silent, and under the gray, lowering sky the spirits of the train seemed to sink. The men ceased to joke with one another, and no songs were sung. Phil heard only the tread of the horses and the creak of the wagons.

      An

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