LITMIR.BIZ

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and the yells were the clamoring, exultant cries of Indians in pursuit.

      Far down where the open forest met the gloom of the thickets, a brown figure flashed across the yellow ground. Darting among the trees, across the glades, it moved so swiftly that Jonathan knew it was Wetzel. In another instant a chorus of yelps resounded from the foliage, and three savages burst through the thicket almost at right angles with the fleeing borderman, running to intercept him. The borderman did not swerve from his course; but came on straight toward the dead tree, with the wonderful fleetness that so often had served him well.

      Even in that moment Jonathan thought of what desperate chances his comrade had taken. The trick was plain. Wetzel had, most likely, shot the dangerous scout, and, taking to his heels, raced past the others, trusting to his speed and their poor marksmanship to escape with a whole skin.

      When within a hundred yards of the oak Wetzel's strength apparently gave out. His speed deserted him; he ran awkwardly, and limped. The savages burst out into full cry like a pack of hungry wolves. They had already emptied their rifles at him, and now, supposing one of the shots had taken effect, redoubled their efforts, making the forest ring with their short, savage yells. One gaunt, dark-bodied Indian with a long, powerful, springy stride easily distanced his companions, and, evidently sure of gaining the coveted scalp of the borderman, rapidly closed the gap between them as he swung aloft his tomahawk, yelling the war-cry.

      The sight on Jonathan's rifle had several times covered this savage's dark face; but when he was about to press the trigger Wetzel's fleeting form, also in line with the savage, made it extremely hazardous to take a shot.

      Jonathan stepped from his place of concealment, and let out a yell that pealed high over the cries of the savages.

      Wetzel suddenly dropped flat on the ground.

      With a whipping crack of Jonathan's rifle, the big Indian plunged forward on his face.

      The other Indians, not fifty yards away, stopped aghast at the fate of their comrade, and were about to seek the shelter of trees when, with his terrible yell, Wetzel sprang up and charged upon them. He had left his rifle where he fell; but his tomahawk glittered as he ran. The lameness had been a trick, for now he covered ground with a swiftness which caused his former progress to seem slow.

      The Indians, matured and seasoned warriors though they were, gave but one glance at this huge, brown figure bearing down upon them like a fiend, and, uttering the Indian name of Deathwind, wavered, broke and ran.

      One, not so fleet as his companion, Wetzel overtook and cut down with a single stroke. The other gained an hundred-yard start in the slight interval of Wetzel's attack, and, spurred on by a pealing, awful cry in the rear, sped swiftly in and out among the trees until he was lost to view.

      Wetzel scalped the two dead savages, and, after returning to regain his rifle, joined Jonathan at the dead oak.

      "Jack, you can never tell how things is comin' out. Thet redskin I allowed might worry us a bit, fooled me as slick as you ever saw, an' I hed to shoot him. Knowin' it was a case of runnin', I just cut fer this oak, drew the redskins' fire, an' hed 'em arter me quicker 'n you'd say Jack Robinson. I was hopin' you'd be here; but wasn't sure till I'd seen your rifle. Then I kinder got a kink in my leg jest to coax the brutes on."

      "Three more quiet," said Jonathan Zane. "What now?"

      "We've headed Legget, an' we'll keep nosin' him off his course. Already he's lookin' fer a safe campin' place for the night."

      "There is none in these woods, fer him."

      "We didn't plan this gettin' between him an' his camp; but couldn't be better fixed. A mile farther along the ridge, is a campin' place, with a spring in a little dell close under a big stone, an' well wooded. Legget's headin' straight fer it. With a couple of Injuns guardin' thet spot, he'll think he's safe. But I know the place, an' can crawl to thet rock the darkest night thet ever was an' never crack a stick."

      * * * * *

      In the gray of the deepening twilight Jonathan Zane sat alone. An owl hooted dismally in the dark woods beyond the thicket where the borderman crouched waiting for Wetzel. His listening ear detected a soft, rustling sound like the play of a mole under the leaves. A branch trembled and swung back; a soft footstep followed and Wetzel came into the retreat.

      "Well?" asked Jonathan impatiently, as Wetzel deliberately sat down and laid his rifle across his knees.

      "Easy, Jack, easy. We've an hour to wait."

      "The time I've already waited has been long for me."

      "They're thar," said Wetzel grimly.

      "How far from here?"

      "A half-hour's slow crawl."

      "Close by?" hissed Jonathan.

      "Too near fer you to get excited."

      "Let us go; it's as light now as in the gray of mornin'."

      "Mornin' would be best. Injuns get sleepy along towards day. I've ever found thet time the best. But we'll be lucky if we ketch these redskins asleep."

      "Lew, I can't wait here all night. I won't leave her longer with that renegade. I've got to free or kill her."

      "Most likely it'll be the last," said Wetzel simply.

      "Well, so be it then," and the borderman hung his head.

      "You needn't worry none, 'bout Helen. I jest had a good look at her, not half an hour back. She's fagged out; but full of spunk yet. I seen thet when Brandt went near her. Legget's got his hands full jest now with the redskins. He's hevin' trouble keepin' them on this slow trail. I ain't sayin' they're skeered; but they're mighty restless."

      "Will you take the chance now?"

      "I reckon you needn't hev asked thet."

      "Tell me the lay of the land."

      "Wai, if we get to this rock I spoke 'bout, we'll be right over 'em. It's ten feet high, an' we can jump straight amongst 'em. Most likely two or three'll be guardin' the openin' which is a little ways to the right. Ther's a big tree, the only one, low down by the spring. Helen's under it, half-sittin', half-leanin' against the roots. When I first looked, her hands were free; but I saw Brandt bind her feet. An' he had to get an Injun to help him, fer she kicked like a spirited little filly. There's moss under the tree an' there's where the redskins'll lay down to rest."

      "I've got that; now out with your plan."

      "Wal, I calkilate it's this. The moon'll be up in about an hour. We'll crawl as we've never crawled afore, because Helen's life depends as much on our not makin' a noise, as it does on fightin' when the time comes. If they hear us afore we're ready to shoot, the lass'll be tomahawked quicker'n lightnin'. If they don't suspicion us, when the right moment comes you shoot Brandt, yell louder'n you ever did afore, leap amongst 'em, an' cut down the first Injun thet's near you on your way to Helen. Swing her over your arm, an' dig into the woods."

      "Well?" asked Jonathan when Wetzel finished.

      "That's all," the borderman replied grimly.

      "An' leave you all alone to fight Legget an' the rest of 'em?"

      "I reckon."

      "Not to be thought of."

      "Ther's no other way."

      "There must be! Let me think; I can't, I'm not myself."

      "No other way," repeated Wetzel curtly.

      Jonathan's broad hand fastened on Wetzel's shoulder and wheeled him around.

      "Have I ever left you alone?"

      "This's different," and Wetzel turned away again. His voice was cold and hard.

      "How is it different? We've had the same thing to do, almost, more than once."

      "We've never had as bad a bunch to handle as Legget's. They're lookin' fer us, an' will be hard to beat."

      "That's no reason."

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