The boys laughed at the story, for Woofer, as they began to call him immediately, told it in a most comical manner. They all took to him immensely, and regarded him as quite an acquisition to the camp.
Dinner was announced by McCall, the cook, and Woofer certainly did justice to it, being, as Bud remarked in an aside to Hallie, "holler all the way down to his toes." He confessed that he had had nothing to eat but a little mud, which he had absorbed when he got a drink at a water hole, since the noon of the day before.
Ted had been thinking about the man. It would do no harm to have another puncher in the outfit, and would relieve the night guard, which at times was a little overworked.
"Say, Woofer, you won't take a reward for bringing in our strays, how would you like a job with this outfit?" he said.
"I don't want you to think I'm workin' ther grub line," said the cow-puncher quickly.
When a cow-puncher is said to be working the grub line, he is known as a thriftless cowman who cannot hold a job long anywhere, and who travels from ranch to ranch, staying only long enough at each to get fed up, then passing on with a few dollars in his pocket, to repeat the operation elsewhere.
"Certainly not," answered Ted. "If I believed that I wouldn't offer you the job."
"All right," said Woofer. "This outfit looks good to me, an' I'll jine, an' go ter work instanter."
"You're on the pay roll, then."
Woofer proved quickly that he knew the business thoroughly, and when, the next morning, the herd got under way, he took the left point, with Bud on the right, and headed the herd into the north.
For several days life on the trail was monotonous. Whenever Ted could be spared from the herd he and Stella and Hallie Croffut, and sometimes Ben or Kit, took long rides off the trail with their rifles, after a pronghorn or black-tail deer, and frequently they had venison for supper.
The life was most fascinating to Hallie, who enjoyed every minute of it, and had seemingly forgotten the unpleasant features of her start with the party.
Singing Bird rode in the wagon, with Mrs. Graham, waiting on that lady in the capacity of maid. Stella had undertaken to teach her the duty of maid, and the girl soon did for Mrs. Graham what had taken a great deal of Stella's time.
The Indian girl was devoted to Stella, and whenever she was near, followed the pretty white girl with eyes in which shone devotion and affection.
She had made herself so useful, and was so self-effacing that every one wondered how they had ever been able to get along without her.
Stella had conceived a real affection for her, she was so gentle and sweet of manner.
They had long talks together in the evenings, sitting away from the fire, the Indian girl telling her white friend all about the life led by the Indians, their wrongs at the hands of the white men, their religious beliefs, their songs, and their folklore.
And, more important than all, she taught Stella the language of the Blackfeet and the Sioux. Stella was a good scholar, and it was surprising how rapidly she picked up the Indian tongues. Later she was to feel gratitude to the Indian girl for this knowledge.
For several days Stella had noticed that Singing Bird was uneasy and apparently unhappy, and it worried her.
She spoke to Ted about it, and he was of the opinion that the Indian girl was getting homesick, that her wild nature was asserting itself, and that she was experiencing a longing to be among her own people again, and free from the conventions of civilized life.
Stella did not think so, and determined to speak to Singing Bird about it at the first good opportunity.
One day the chance came as they were walking together in a wood near which they had camped.
"What is the matter with you, sister?" asked Stella kindly. "Is it that you are not satisfied with our ways, and that you want to leave us?"
Singing Bird looked at her with troubled eyes, in which the tears soon began to well up.
"My sister knows that I love her," she said, "and that I would not leave her unless she wishes me to."
She looked at Stella inquiringly.
"No, I want you to stay. But if you are troubled, you must tell me as one sister would tell another."
"I will tell you," said the Indian girl simply, "and I would have told you long ago, only that I did not want to trouble you, nor make trouble for any one else in the camp."
"What do you mean by making trouble for any one else in the camp?"
"I mean that the new man who drives the cows is a bad man. Beware of him."
"You mean the man called Woofer?"
"Yes, it is he whom I mean. He is the traitor, and he doesn't like the master, Ted Strong."
"How do you know that?"
"From what he has said to me. He is the bad man."
"But tell me all about it. I didn't know that he had talked to you, even. Why did you not tell me this before?"
"The white man threatened to kill me if I told."
"Now you must tell me all."
"We will sit down here, for there is much to tell."
Singing Bird took a seat upon a fallen tree, and Stella sat down beside her.
"Proceed," said Stella, "and leave nothing out."
"When he first came to the camp, I wished he would not stay," began Singing Bird, "but every one seemed to think he was the good man, and who am I to say anything against the wishes of my friends who saved my life and made me a home?"
"Did you know him then?"
"Yes. I have seen him at the white soldiers' fort. He is the friend of Running Bear. He is a bad man, who steals other men's cattle."
"But he brought ours back to us."
"That was a trick to get into your camp. He is as cunning as a bad Indian. One day he came to me when no one was about, and told me that he had seen my husband, Running Bear, and that I must go back to him. I was frightened, but told him I would not do so. Then he begged me to tell him the secret I have. I told him I could not do it."
"You have never told me that secret."
"But I will. Always I have intended to do so."
"When you are ready. But go on."
"Then he told me that if I would tell him the secret he would marry me himself." The Indian girl flushed. "You know, sister, that it is a great thing for an Indian girl to marry a white man."
"But you are already the wife of Running Bear," said Stella, who was puzzled.
"That is the Indian marriage, and soon broken. But when I told him I didn't want to marry him, he got very angry. I told him I was going to stay with you, and he said that if I did I would be killed with all the rest of you; that it was coming, and that Mr. Strong had many enemies who were stronger than all of you."
"Did he hint when this was going to take place?"
"Yes, when we get to the Far North."
"Did he say anything else?"
"He told me that if I didn't go with him to-night he would kill me when I slept."
"We shall see about that," said Stella spiritedly. "But why is all this fuss being made about you and your secret? It must be something very important."
"Yes, to the white man, but not to the Indian."
"Then why did Running Bear shoot you because you would not tell him?"
"He wanted to sell the secret to a white man for whisky."
"Who is the white man? Do you know?"
"Yes. But I do not like to tell."
"You have told me so much, you must tell me the rest."
"The white man is a soldier at the fort."
"A common soldier?"
"No, a chief, who carries a sword."
"Oh, an officer. What is his name?"
"He is called Barrows."
"Oh! And he offered Running Bear whisky for your secret? That is bad."
"Yes. Chief Barrows wants the secret, and he has sent the man who drives cows here to make me tell it."
"Singing Bird, you must tell me the secret."
"I will."
Stella settled herself to hear the Indian girl's story.
"It began when I was a little child," said Singing Bird. "One time when my father's tribe was hunting, we came to a place where a lot of white men were digging in the sands of the big, muddy river."
"Was that the Missouri?"
"The white men call it so. We camped beside them, and one day I saw them washing out of the sand little grains of yellow metal, which they thought much of, although the Indians would rather have iron, the black metal."
"They were hunting for gold."
"Yes. In their talk with my father they said that somewhere up the river was the mother of the gold, where all this came from. They asked my father if he knew where it was.
"Now, my father had found where there was plenty of the yellow metal. But he, too, was shrewd, and, seeing that the white men prized it so highly, he thought he would go back and get the gold, and sell it to the white men for iron and shot and powder and blankets.
"The white men guessed that he knew where the mother of gold was, and asked him. But he refused to tell them, and went away.
"The white men followed us for days. One evening I was with my mother, and heard my father tell her where the yellow metal was on the opposite side of the river, pointing to a great sycamore tree that grew on the river bank. 'Beneath that tree lies much of the yellow metal,' he said to her, and I saw the tree, and knew what he said was true.
"That night the white men came to our camp and had a long talk with my father, trying to make him tell where the mother gold was, and, when he would not, suddenly they fell upon the camp, and, after killing some of the young men, drove my father and the others away. At the first shot my mother ran away into the woods with me."
"That was horrible," interjected Stella.
"As my mother ran, she was shot in the back, but she kept on running until she was out of sight before she fell.
"Then the white men went away, and I lay there with my mother until she breathed no more and was cold.
"I cried for a long time because it was dark and cold, and I could hear the wild animals in the woods all about me.
"This frightened me, and I began to call 'Ai-i-e!' which is the Indian way of lamentation, and I cried louder all the time to keep the wild animals from me."
"And did no one hear you?"
"Yes. In the night I heard a noise in the wood, and it was the noise of a man walking, an Indian man, for it was soft, made by moccasins. Then I cried louder, and soon my father came and picked both me and my mother up in his arms and carried us away into the woods, where he buried my mother, and went away into the North again.
"But as I grew up, I thought often about the mother gold and the place where it was hidden by the Great Spirit, for so I had heard my father say. Once when I spoke of it to my father he told me never to speak of it to him again, for it was cursed, having taken away from him his son, who was killed by the white men, and my mother.
"So never did I talk of it. But when Running Bear heard of it from some of the old men who had been with my father, and heard that I was the only one of all the tribe who knew where it was, he began to court me, and then bought me of my father for twenty ponies.
"We had not been married long when he asked me to take him to the place of gold, but my father told me not to do so, and I did not. Then he began to beat me, and tried to kill me, but the secret is still mine.
"In time others heard that I possessed the great secret of the hiding place of the mother gold, for when Running Bear was drunk he would boast that his squaw was the richest woman in the world, because of her secret, and many men have tried to get it from me. Then the army chief, who carries the sword, got hungry for the gold, and gave Running Bear plenty of whisky to make me tell where it was, and now he has sent Woofer to make me tell, or to kill me."
"Will you tell Ted Strong where the mother gold is hidden?" asked Stella.
"I will, if you wish me to. But it is accursed."
"Nonsense. That is only a superstition. Now that you have told me, all will be well. Be careful, and do not let Woofer see you alone, and if he lays his hand on you, scream for me. We will now go back to the camp."
As the two girls walked away with their arms around one another's waists, a tall, gaunt man rose from behind a dead tree not far away, and over his face spread a shrewd smile.
It was Woofer.
The tent occupied by Singing Bird was pitched some distance from that occupied by Mrs. Graham and the two girls, Stella and Hallie, and when she had attended to the wants of Mrs. Graham, she retired to it.
It was early in the evening, and when she saw that her friend had retired, Stella sought out Ted, and told him the story she had heard that afternoon.
At first Ted was inclined to be somewhat incredulous about Woofer's share in it as told by the Indian girl, but when he thought it over and put together certain facts which had come to his attention, and recalled questions, apparently innocent at the time they were asked, which Woofer had put to him from time to time, he began to suspect that the merry cow-puncher was, after all, merely acting a part.
Ted took Bud into consultation, and the three went over the matter carefully.
If it were true that Barrows was after the gold, he had a double cause to do injury to the broncho boys.
There could be no doubt that Barrows, by virtue of his position, was capable of being a very dangerous foe, especially in this part of the country where the boys were virtually alone, and where they had no friends, and were compelled to rely absolutely upon themselves.
That their doings were probably known to Barrows by means of a system of espionage conducted by Woofer, who, Ted now recalled, was in the habit of leaving the camp for long, solitary rides at intervals. What could be easier than when Woofer heard them talking about their plans to ride out and meet a courier sent by Barrows to get the information?
Ted resolved not only to fight Barrows with his own weapons, and to a finish, but to interfere with his plans to get the gold in the mine to which Singing Bird only could guide them.
It was necessary, therefore, to guard the Indian girl closely, and this he proposed to do, and when he had rid the camp of Woofer, and scoured the country for Barrows' spies and sent them off, he would proceed to the mine.
As it was, they were headed in the direction of the Missouri River, and it would not be at all out of their way, or interfere with their business.
Woofer was sitting with the boys around the camp fire, regaling them with stories of cow-punching in various parts of the country, and making of himself a most agreeable companion, and Ted, watching him carefully, could see nothing guilty or suspicious about him.
But that didn't prevent him from keeping his eyes open.
Gradually the camp settled down for the night.
Stella went to bed after she had peeped into the tent occupied by Singing Bird, and satisfied herself that she was sleeping quietly and safely.
One by one the boys rolled themselves in their blankets beside the fire, and dropped into deep slumber.
Woofer had said good night among the first, saying that he was very tired, and would "crawl into the wool," as he expressed it.
Only the night guard was awake, as they rode around and around the sleeping herd, their voices breaking out softly into song as a restless steer arose and sniffed the air and began to walk around.
Ted was lying in his blankets, breathing softly and deeply, evidently sound asleep.
Overhead the stars sparkled brightly, casting a radiance upon the earth that made things several feet distant perfectly observable.
Woofer's blankets had been spread at the edge of the circle farthest from the fire. Ted also slept on the outer rim, and not more than ten feet from Woofer.
It was past midnight, as Ted could tell by the stars, for he was not asleep, although feigning to be.
He lay facing the place where Woofer was circled up in his blankets, when he saw the cow-puncher raise his head cautiously, not more than an inch or two, and look around.
Ted closed his eyelids to a mere crack, for the light from the fire shone on his face, and in that position watched Woofer's movements.
Woofer was very sly and cautious. Ted had observed that he had ostentatiously pulled off his boots when he lay down. Now he could see by the movements of the blankets that he was pulling them on again out of sight.
"That fellow is going to get up in a minute," thought Ted, "and I think I know just what he is going to do."
He had not long to wait, for presently Woofer crawled out of his blankets on the far side, and began to wriggle away on his belly, like a snake.
Ted still kept his eyes upon him.
Once Woofer stopped and looked back to see if his escape from camp had been observed, or if any one was stirring.
Ted had not moved, and apparently was as sound asleep as ever.
Reassured that no one had seen him leave his blankets, Woofer proceeded until he was without the radius of the camp fire's glow, when he rose to an upright position.
But Ted could still follow him by the starlight.
Evidently believing himself safe, Woofer did not again look around, but walked slowly and silently toward the tents, which were plainly to be seen about fifty feet distant from the fire.
The tent in which the Indian girl was sleeping was farther from the fire than that occupied by Mrs. Graham and her two charges.
Ted had slipped from his blankets at the moment when Woofer rose to his feet, and was creeping along, close to the ground paralleling Woofer's progress, but about twenty feet to the left.
Woofer arrived at the Indian girl's shelter and stopped, and seemed to be listening.
This gave Ted time to creep nearer.
He saw the cow-puncher lift the flap of the tent and look within, still listening carefully for anything that would tell him that Singing Bird was awake.
Ted was not more than ten feet away when Woofer disappeared.
He had entered the tent.
Suddenly from within it there came a muffled cry, then the tent began to pitch and toss. Evidently a savage struggle was going on within.
But it was all so silent that had Ted not been within striking distance of it, he would not have heard anything of it.
Suddenly the tent flew apart, and Woofer appeared, carrying in his arms the insensible form of the Indian girl.
Woofer was a very powerful man, and he ran swiftly from the tent bearing the girl in his arms as if she were a child.
Ted dashed after him. It did not occur to him to raise an alarm.
But as swiftly as he ran, Woofer had the better of him, for a few strides took him out of Ted's sight.
Ted stopped and listened, blaming himself for not closing with Woofer sooner.
Not a sound of Woofer's retreat came to his ears.
Suddenly he heard a nicker at his elbow almost, and looked around. It was Sultan, who had smelled him, and had come to him, and was now rubbing his velvety nose against Ted's sleeve.
In an inspiration Ted leaped upon his back, and caught the headstall, which he always left on Sultan when he turned him loose in the night so that he could get him in a hurry should there be a night alarm of any sort.
An idea came to him as soon as he felt Sultan under him.
Woofer undoubtedly had thought to have a horse saddled and ready waiting for him somewhere near the camp. If he could only get Sultan to call to it and get an answer, he would soon find him.
He had no sooner conceived the thought when Sultan whinneyed like a trumpet call.
From a distance came an answering cry. It was the voice of Magpie, and Ted knew it well. Stella's little black-and-white mare and Sultan were the greatest friends, and when she heard him call, she replied.
Woofer was about to steal the most valuable and swiftest of the animals, except Sultan. That was another reason why Ted was now so keen on the chase. He turned Sultan's head in the direction of Magpie's call, and the little stallion galloped away like the wind.
Ted had no bridle, but that was not necessary, for he and Sultan understood one another so well that a slight pressure of the rider's knees was all the guidance the horse needed.
Again came Magpie's shrill call, and this time Sultan nickered and fairly flew. Somewhere ahead, in the darkness, Ted heard for the first time the hoofbeats of the pony, and knew that Woofer had reached it and was away.
"Follow her; catch her, Sultan," called Ted, and Sultan seemed to understand, and let himself out to his full stride, although he missed the firm, guiding hand on the bridle.
Magpie was put to her utmost, but she was heavily handicapped by carrying double for a race against Sultan, who was not even burdened by the heavy saddle he usually bore.
So it was that Sultan steadily gained on the little mare, who was not disposed to do her utmost even under whip and spur, which Woofer did not spare.
They were now racing in the dark along the ridge of a deep coulee, the wall on the right of which went down steeply to a depth of thirty or more feet.
Ted could not see the way, but he knew that they were riding a perilous path, and that a slip of the foot or a rolling rock might cost them their lives.
But he knew Sultan's feet were sure, and that unless an accident which could not be avoided took place, they were safe.
He had so gained on Woofer that he could now see him dimly outlined against the sky in advance of him.
If it were only level ground on which he could urge Sultan, it would not be a matter of more than a few minutes before he would be up with him.
But evidently Woofer saw him, also, for there was the flash of a revolver, and a ball sang past Ted's head.
He dared not fire in return for fear of hitting Singing Bird.
But the race must end soon, for Ted was steadily gaining.
At length they swept down from the ridge and into the coulee, along the level bottom of which they galloped, Sultan always edging up, closer and closer to Magpie, who evidently was slowing down.
Now Ted spoke to Sultan and urged him for the first time, and the gallant little beast spurted forward, and in an instant's time was abreast of the other horse.
Ted's eyes were almost put out by a blinding flash, and there was a deafening roar.
Woofer had placed his forty-five close to his head, leaning far out of his saddle, and fired.
By same interposition of Providence, however, the ball went past his head, singeing his hair, and he bent forward and struck Woofer on the head with the butt of his own weapon.
Woofer seemed to shrink in the saddle, like a wet rag, and the Indian girl was slipping from his arms to the ground when Ted seized her and transferred her to his own saddle.
At the same moment the insensible form of Woofer slipped to the ground.
Feeling herself free of her burden, Magpie came to a stop, and trotted back to where Ted was waiting for her, and rubbed noses with Sultan.
The Indian girl had been rendered unconscious by a blow on the head in the tent, and was just recovering as Ted rescued her from a fall to the ground.
Presently she opened her eyes, and, not knowing what had taken place within the last few minutes, she tried to struggle out of Ted's arms, at the same time uttering shrill screams, and trying to use her finger nails on his face. She was fighting like a wild cat, and it was all Ted could do to prevent her from injuring him, while he was trying to get her quiet enough to realize the change in her fortunes.
Finally she recognized his voice and ceased to struggle, but sat up and looked at him in amazement.
"It is I, Singing Bird," said he. "I followed you and took you away from Woofer. You are safe."
Then she saw it was so, and remained quiet.
He let her slip to the ground, and then assisted her to mount Magpie, and thus they rode slowly back to camp.
Before going Ted got down from Sultan's back and found Woofer, who was lying where he fell. He was not in a serious condition, but Ted knew that he would suffer from a severe headache when he awoke. Then he would have to take care of himself, alone on the vast prairie without a horse. But it was his own lookout, and perhaps it would teach him a much-needed lesson.
When they reached camp the night guard was changing, and, seeing Ted and the Indian girl come riding in together, the boys aroused the whole camp with their eager questions.
Ted told them briefly all that had happened during the attempted abduction of Singing Bird, but the time was not ripe to divulge the burden of the Indian girl's story of the gold in the mother lode.
The daring attempt to abduct the Indian girl made a strong impression on every one of the Moon Valley outfit, and they resolved that they would not be caught napping in that manner again.
The herd continued to move forward slowly toward the north, with nothing to vary the monotony.
The long, grassy slopes of Montana furnished the best of feed, and the country was plentifully watered with clear, flashing mountain streams, and, all in all, it was an ideal cow country.
The herd was now well up toward the northeast corner of Montana, and not far away was the Missouri, near the banks of which Ted intended to hold the cattle until they were in fine condition, and then drive them by easy stages to the railroad.
One day Bud rode up to Ted with a very serious face, so unusual a thing that Ted looked at him with a grin.
"What's the grouch about now, Bud?" he asked.
"I ain't got no grouch," answered Bud.
"No? You look as if some one had handed you a lemon."
"No lemons in mine, but I jest got a hunch that this yere outfit is being follered, an' that thar's some dirty work doin'."
"What makes you think that?"
"I found a couple o' dead steers back a bit with our brand on them."
"Great Scott! What seemed the matter with them?"
"All swelled up."
"Poison?"
"That's what makes them swell up. There's no disease in ther herd, what I kin diskiver. All healthy enough. But some o' them is showin' signs o' loco, an' thar ain't no loco weed on this range."
"That's mighty strange. I hadn't noticed it. What do you think of it?"
"I believe that dog Woofer is follerin' us, an' has been spreadin' poison o' some kind on ther range what either kills or makes ther steers crazy."
"If that is true, it is the most serious thing that has come our way in a long time. It wouldn't take much of that sort of work to put the whole bunch out of business and leave us with not enough cattle to pay to drive back to the road."
"That's right. We'd be in a pretty fix with the best o' our herd rottin' out here on the prairie. And about all we've got is tied up in it, too."
"What do you think is behind it?"
"Barrows, the dirty little coward of an officer back there at Fort Felton, striking back-hand blows at us through his money, by hirin' crooks and murderers to do his dirty work. There's more than one man at work at this."
"I've no doubt you're right. By Jove! I'm going to take a look at the situation myself."
"Be careful about goin' too far away from the herd alone."
"I will; and, say, warn Stella and Miss Croffut about going out of sight of the herd, and to always fire a signal if strange men approach them when away from camp."
"I'll put everybody on, and warn them to be on their guard."
As Ted rode on, he turned the matter over in his mind.
Not knowing exactly if poison had been given the cattle, or if they had eaten of a poisonous weed, of which he had no knowledge, Ted was in a quandary. But it was questions like this that came before cowmen on the range, and it was the successful ones who solved them.
Ted felt, therefore, that it was up to him to get at the cause of the trouble which had unexpectedly come to him.
If he was being followed by a band of cattle poisoners who worked in the night, the sooner he knew it the better, for he could then lay plans to put them out of their nefarious business.
As he rode, he came across three swollen bodies of steers, and examined them. Clearly they had been poisoned, as Bud had said.
Far out on the range he saw a lone steer. Thinking that it was a stray, he rode toward it, with the intention of driving it back toward the herd.
For a herd steer, it was acting in an unaccountable manner. At times it galloped away in a frantic sort of way, throwing its head from side to side, then as suddenly stopping, and, with drooping head, standing quietly. Then away it would go again, charging at some unseen foe, only to become stupid once more.
"Something wrong with that brute," said Ted to himself. "Either it has got into a nest of rattlesnakes and has been bitten and is charging them, or it is locoed. We'll soon see."
He kept on fearlessly toward the steer, which continued its strange conduct.
When he was still several feet away the steer noticed him for the first time, apparently. It lowered its head and looked at him in a dazed sort of way.
This steer was known as Blue Eyes, on account of the curious bluish patch of hair that grew around one of its eyes. It had always been known as a particularly intelligent and tractable beast.
But now it was a very demon, with gleaming, blood-shot eyes and pawing hoofs, uttering deep, guttural bellows, and throwing the sand up over its back to the accompaniment of its thrashing tail.
"You look pretty dangerous, old fellow," muttered Ted, stopping his pony and gazing at it from a safe distance.
"No signs of rattlesnakes around here, or I'd smell them," soliloquized Ted. "Wonder what's the matter with you."
For answer, the steer gave an extra flip to its tail, and, without further warning, charged upon Ted with head down and wicked horns gleaming like bayonets. Ted's horse gave a snort of fear, and trembled in every muscle.
Ted at once realized his danger, and wheeled his horse like a bullfighter as Blue Eyes dashed past him, its horn scraping his leg.
"It's fight or run," thought Ted, "with a poor chance to get away from the brute. When they're in that condition they can run like an automobile."
Again the steer, having recovered itself, turned to the attack.
"I'll have to put a few bullets into that brute, if this thing keeps up much longer. It's just crazy enough not to be afraid of a man on horseback, besides, it's a good deal more active than usual." Ted's thoughts were keeping time with the swift actions of the brute, which was wheeling and charging like mad, so that it took all his agility and superb horsemanship to keep clear of it.
Now the horse was getting tired, and was almost useless because it was losing whatever sense it had had, and was becoming awkward and unmanageable.
The steer stood off for several minutes looking at Ted in a lowering way, but when Ted tried to run from it, it was close to his heels in a minute, and he had to simply throw the horse to one side, bringing it to its knees, to avoid the brute.
"That settles it," said Ted, taking his forty-five from its holster and advancing slowly upon the frantic steer.
As it started to charge again he fired directly at the middle of its forehead.
But the animal was hardly staggered, as the missile flattened on its skull and fell harmlessly to the ground.
"This won't do," said Ted. "I've got to get into this game myself. No more peek-a-boo goes with Blue Eyes. I'll do the tackling for a while."
He wheeled out of the way, then turned suddenly and rode after the steer, firing four balls in rapid succession into its body.
But this did not seem to affect the animal's spirits at all, and Ted rode off a short distance and reloaded.
When he turned again toward the beast it was charging, and was so close to him that he hardly had time to get out of its way.
He might have made it had not the horse caught the smell of blood, which was running from the steer in several places.
This rattled him so that he lost his footing, and the next instant he was struck on the withers by the steer's horns and went rolling over and over on the prairie, while Ted Strong flew from his back, and landed heavily on the sod, with his revolver knocked from his hand.
The locoed steer stood a few feet away pawing the earth and looking at him with dim eyes, all blood-shot and crazy, not making a move toward him, yet always seeming about to do so.
Stealthily, inch by inch, Ted crawled toward where his forty-five lay on the ground.
It was six feet from where he lay to that gun, and he prayed silently that he could reach it before the steer changed its mind and rushed him.
He knew it would do no good for him to rise and go toward the weapon. If he did, the steer would immediately rush him, and that would be the end of things for him, for he would stand no chance whatever against that terrible beast, crazed, and powerful beyond its ordinary strength.
As long as he crept gently the steer seemed not to notice him.
Now he was within five feet of the revolver with his arm stretched out at full length. It was only four feet now, and still the steer did not make any move to attack him.
He was trying to think where he would shoot it. In the throat, ranging so that the bullet would pierce its heart; or through the eye, and so reach its brain.
Now his fingers closed around the weapon, and he clutched it convulsively, leaping to his feet like an acrobat.
At the same moment the steer, bellowing like an insane thing, charged upon him, and he fired into its blue eye.
The ball pierced the brain and killed the brute instantly, but did not stop the headlong flight of it, and before Ted could step out of its way, it struck him with the force of a locomotive. As he went to the ground, the dead steer fell on top of him.
Ted's fight with the steer had been seen, and across the prairie two flying figures simply split the air. When they reached the side of the prostrate steer, they flung themselves to the earth and flew to the rescue of Ted. One was Stella and the other was Bud.
"Is he dead?" asked Stella breathlessly.
"I reckon not," answered the cow-puncher, who, secretly, was very much afraid he was; he didn't see how Ted could help being dead, having been charged by a steer, and having gone down beneath its weight.
He was struggling like a demon to lift the heavy animal from Ted's body.
The bulk of the steer was lying across Ted's chest, whose face was black from the congestion, so that Stella dared not look at him.
"Pump yer gun fer all it's worth," commanded Bud, in a rough voice. "Keep shootin' till yer bring 'em on ther run. We've got ter get him from under this steer soon, er he'll be all in."
Stella had snatched her Winchester from the boot of her saddle, and fired it in rapid succession into the air until the magazine was empty. Then she refilled it, and began shooting again.
Presently she heard answering shots from the direction of the camp, and in a few minutes several horsemen came tearing over the top of a distant hill, to disappear into a valley and come into sight again on a nearer hill. Soon, with a shout that fairly split the air, six of the boys, led by Ben and Kit, threw themselves from their saddles in front of her.
"What's the matter?" they yelled in unison.
"Throw that steer off Ted," she commanded.
Then they saw what the matter was, and altogether they hoisted the steer, and Ted was freed of the terrible weight.
He was scarcely breathing, for the wind had been completely knocked out of him. Ben laid him flat on his back, and, straddling him, with his knees on the ground, began to work Ted's arms with an upward, backward, and outward motion, as if he was restoring the breath to a half-drowned person. Soon a flush came into Ted's face, and he gave a gasp, and his breath came in short, painful inhalations. As Ben continued the exercise, his breathing became regular, and he opened his eyes with surprise, to see so many of his friends about him, and particularly big Ben straddling him and apparently holding him down. He thought at first that Ben was responsible for his prostrate condition, or that he had struck him.
"What are you doing?" Ted said angrily. "Let me up, dog-gone you."
But when he saw the dead steer on the ground beside him he remembered what had happened, and sat up and laughed with the others.
It did not take him long to recover after this.
"I'm going to try to find out what caused this beast to go mad," said Ted. "There's certainly something wrong about it."
"How are you going to find that out?" asked Ben.
"I don't know yet, but I will," Ted answered. "Come on, two or three of you fellows. The rest of you ride back to the camp. You may be needed there. We can't guard things too closely these days."
The party separated, and Ted, with Bud, Ben, and Kit, rode away, but they had gone only a little ways when they heard a noise behind them. It was Stella galloping toward them.
"I'm going, too," she said, and go she did.
Riding about half a mile west they came to a deep coulee, into which they descended and followed its course for a short distance, when suddenly Ted held up his hand as a signal to halt.
"I smell burning paper," he said, and, getting down from his saddle, went forward alone on foot, as silently as an Indian.
Suddenly he bent forward, examining something on the ground, and motioned the others forward. They rode to his side, and saw him looking at a small, dead camp fire.
"Some one camped here last night," he said, thrusting his hand into the warm ashes. "And whoever it was burned papers in it before he went away this morning; the smell of them is still in the air." But no nose in the party was keen-scented enough to detect it except Ted's.
Ted was still pawing among the ashes, when a change in expression swept over his face, and soon he pulled out several small pieces of charred paper. They were only burned on their curled-up edges, and Ted saw that they were covered with writing, evidently part of a letter.
"What's this?" he exclaimed, after he had spread them out, and studied them attentively. "Here are some words. There is not very much sense in them, though."
"What do they read?" asked Stella.
"This is all I can make out of it: 'I *end you *** **nds of ***is **een. ***tter it on *** *rass. nce rr ws,'. Sounds as crazy as the steer, doesn't it?"
"That's as easy as living on a farm," said Stella, who had been looking over Ted's shoulder.
"All right, Miss Smarty, what is it?" said Ted laughingly.
"See, it's part of instructions to some one, and the way I read it is like this: 'I send you so many pounds'—I don't know just how many, but from the spaces the weight is expressed in three letters or three figures. The next is presumably a poison, although I wouldn't have thought of it if you hadn't spoken of it. What does two words, the first ending in 'is' and the other in 'een' mean, I wonder?"
They all scratched their heads for an answer.
"Why, sure, I have it," said Ted. "It is Paris green."
"That's it. Clever boy. Then there's 'tter,' which simply shouts 'scatter' at you. After that 'rass.' That's not hard. It reads so far: 'I send you, say six, pounds of Paris green,' although it must have been more than that. 'Scatter it on the grass.'"
"But the rest of it. That will stump you," said Ben.
"That's what caused me to get next to it first. It's Clarence Barrows, as sure as you're born!"
"Stella, you're right, by jinks!" shouted Bud. "Ther sweet-scented Lieutenant Barrows has sent men out yere ter poison our critters, and we've caught him with ther goods on."
The discovery that Lieutenant Barrows had lent himself to such an enormous crime in the sight of all cowmen as to attempt to poison a herd of cattle, served to keep them all silent as they rode homeward, but around the fire that night their tongues loosened as they discussed it.
They told Hallie Croffut nothing about it, as they wished to save her pain, for as far as any of them knew she was still betrothed to Lieutenant Barrows, who was proving himself an enemy indeed.
"I see how it is, and how easy," said Ted. "They have been following us ever since we have been on the trail, but from a secure distance, generally riding parallel with us, out of sight in coulees, watching us continually."
"But how could they poison our cattle, without our seeing some of them sometimes?" asked Kit.
"Easy enough. Probably there are only two of them, for more would be in the way, and run more risk of being seen."
"But about the poisoning part of it? I don't understand how they could do it."
"That's easy, too. They are probably a day ahead of us all the time, guessing at our probable direction of march. If they guess it wrong, they try it over again, for they are never more than a mile or so away. When they pick out a place where they think we will graze, they scatter the Paris green on the grass for the cattle to lick up. It takes a good-sized dose of the poison to affect so large an animal as a steer, and that is probably why we have not lost more of our stock by that means. They could never get quite enough, that is, the most of them, to kill them. Such as are dead did get enough to make them loco first, and kill them afterward."
"Another thing," said Kit: "We have had several heavy rains in the early morning lately, and that has served to run the poison off."
"I wouldn't wonder, also, if they haven't missed our route several times, and left the Paris green to poison some other herd," said Stella.
"Their salvation, I am convinced, is also due to the peculiar quality of the water they have found to drink. Who knows but that it is a perfect antidote for the Paris green?" said Ben wisely.
"Oh, slush!" interposed Bud. "I reckon ther truth is they haven't begun ter poison in right earnest yet. From ther letter, I would think that they had just received the stuff and were trying it out before they begin the big poisoning stunt. I'll bet Woofer is the chief actor, and that he's just met ther feller what brought ther poison out with him. Having found that it worked on a few o' ther cattle, they'll spread it on thick ahead o' us. An' ther wust part o' it is, thar don't seem no way ter circumvent 'em, onless we go hunt fer 'em, an' put 'em out er business quick."
"Well said, Bud," was Ted's comment. "There's no way of discovering the confounded stuff. We can't go ahead with a microscope and a chemical laboratory to analyze every blade of grass along the route for Paris green. The best we can do is to take our chances and keep going north. But I think we'd better establish outside picket lines which will stay well in advance, and off to the flanks. If it can be done, this system will succeed in at least frightening them off for a while. Everybody prepare to stand extra hours in the saddle."
A line of outriders was established at once, and the herd pushed on, and for several days there were no evidences that any more of the cattle had been poisoned.
They were nearing the river, as they could tell by the gradual sloping of the land to the east, and the flatness of the country.
One afternoon about four o'clock Brock, one of the hired cow-punchers, came riding into camp as fast as his horse would run, and fell out of the saddle. He had been shot through the leg, and was almost insensible from loss of blood when he succeeded in getting in.
When he was able to speak, he said to Ted:
"I was riding picket about two miles off to the west. As I topped a hill I saw a body of men about a quarter of a mile away. With my glasses I saw that they were soldiers, and wondered what they were doing so far from a post, as there isn't one nearer here than Fort Felton."
"Soldiers, eh?" asked Ted. "Cavalry or infantry?"
"Cavalry."
"How many of them were there?"
"I should say about fifty."
"Did they see you?"
"They must have seen me, for I saw them brought to a halt, and remain that way for several minutes, while the officer was looking at me through his binoculars. After they had satisfied themselves as to what I was, they galloped to the north, and I soon lost sight of them behind the hills."
"I wonder what troops are doing out here. I haven't heard of any trouble with the Indians, and there is no gang of outlaws this far north that it would take troops to subdue."
Stella looked at Ted significantly, and he read her thoughts.
Could it be that Lieutenant Barrows had been able to use his influence, or his cunning, to bring a detachment of troops so far away from the post to attend to his own personal affairs, while ostensibly on the government's business?
He dismissed the thought, however, as soon as it was conceived. It appeared to be too ridiculous.
However, they were all on their guard now. They realized that there were others on the range, and they were aware that a powerful and vindictive enemy was close at hand.
"How did you come to receive the shot in the leg?" asked Ted, breaking the silence.
"As I turned to ride to camp to report what I had seen, something moved down in the coulee. At first I thought it might be a wolf or coyote, but as I drove the pony into it a shot was fired, and it got me in the leg. I didn't wait for any more, as I did not know how many men there might be, and I deemed it wise to get to camp alive with the news."
"The poisoners!" was Ted's brief comment.
"They've got us pretty well hemmed in," said Ben. "They mean business."
"Yes, but we'll break through, and beat them yet," said Ted, with conviction.
But they were a long ways from being out of danger yet as they were soon to know.
That evening Ted, accompanied by Stella and Hallie, rode out of camp. Ted wanted to spy out the land in advance to see if there were any signs of the troops and the poisoners.
They were riding along out of sight of the camp, talking cheerfully and feeling perfectly safe, when they were brought to a sudden stop by a command, "Halt!" given in a gruff tone.
They stared in amazement when they saw that they were surrounded by a detachment of soldiers, and that the command had been given by a sergeant. A dozen carbines were leveled at them.
"What's the meaning of this?" asked Ted, with a smile.
"Orders for your arrest," answered the sergeant gruffly. "Disarm the man."
Several soldiers stepped to Ted's side, and the one who attempted to take Ted's rifle from its boot on the saddle received a kick on the chest that sent him sprawling on his back.
But as the kick was delivered, and before he could do anything further in his defense, Ted was struck a ringing blow on the head with the butt of a carbine, and was dragged from the saddle.
As he went down he heard a shout of alarm.
"Don't shoot!" he heard the sergeant cry. "Let her go. We don't want her, anyway."
Then Ted knew that Stella had escaped, to carry the news back to the boys, and to bring assistance.
"I wish the Indian girl had been along," the sergeant said to one of the men. "We'd have all we wanted, then."
"Oh, we'll get her later," was the reply.
Ted was hoisted to his feet in no gentle manner, and then he discovered that his arms had been bound. Sitting on her pony was Hallie Croffut, pale but calm, regarding the scene with an expression of contempt.
"What is the meaning of this, Brown?" she asked, addressing the sergeant
"Orders from a s'perior officer, miss," said the sergeant apologetically, saluting respectfully.
"Well, you and your superior officer will be sorry for this day's work when the colonel hears of it," was all she said.
The sergeant saluted again, and ordered the men to march.
Ted was lifted into his saddle, and, in the center of the detachment, was marched away.
They rode thus for several miles, when, in the gathering dusk, Ted saw ahead of him a small cabin.
In a few moments they were in front of it, and Ted and Hallie were assisted to the ground and bade to enter.
In the center of the room, seated at a table, was Lieutenant Barrows, who scowled at Ted, but hadn't the courage, apparently, to look at his fiancée.
Hallie Croffut did not address him, but he felt the glance of scorn she gave him, for he winced under it.
"For what am I arrested?" asked Ted coolly.
"You will discover when your trial comes," was the cold reply.
"And why have you dared to detain me?" asked Hallie.
"Your father's orders, Miss Croffut," he said almost inaudibly.
"I believe that you are lying. If you are, Heaven help you, for there is not a decent man in all the army who will not hound you to disgrace. To think that you would countenance this outrage against your colonel's daughter is almost past belief. But now I know you for what you are, you cur."
Barrows went white as a sheet as she said this, and his lip curled back from his teeth, like those of an angry dog, as he half rose to his feet with a gesture as if he would strike her. But he thought better of it, and sank back.
"Brown, take them away," he said to the sergeant. "I will hold you personally responsible for them."
The sergeant saluted, and, catching Ted by the elbow, marched him into the next room.
Hallie Croffut started to follow him, when she was stayed by Barrows.
"Hallie, won't you come back with me?" he pleaded. "If you will, I will release Strong and let the rest of it go."
"I wouldn't trust you out of my sight," said the girl. "Oh, how happy I am that I have found you out in time. You are the most miserable specimen of a man I ever heard of, and to think that you have called yourself an officer and a gentleman. But this is the last for you. If you were brave enough you ought to kill yourself to save the army from the disgrace of having had you in it."
"Curse you!" he cried, in impotent rage. "If you were not a woman I would knock you down."
"If you feel like it, don't let so small a matter that I am a girl and your colonel's daughter interfere with your pleasure. Strike me!"
But Barrows only stared at her with a white face, and with a muttered curse left the room.
"This way, miss," said the sergeant. She entered the room into which Ted had been taken, but he was not there.
In the middle of the floor was an open trapdoor.
"I must ask you to go down there," said the sergeant. "You will find a ladder. You will be safe, and it is not for long. We start for the post soon, I am told."
Hallie made no reply, but did as she was bid.
The cellar was as dark as a pocket, and she could see absolutely nothing as her feet touched the earth floor.
But she found a box, and sat down upon it. The trap was closed, a bolt shot in it, and she was in Stygian darkness.
She was terribly frightened at first, but there were no rats in the cellar, which she had at first feared, and she fell to thinking what it all meant. Surely the army must have gone entirely mad that she, Hallie Croffut, its pet, should be under arrest in a dark and musty cellar.
But presently her heart stopped beating. In a far corner she heard a faint noise.
Something else was in the place with her. What could it be? Where was Ted? What did it all mean?
Then she heard a groan, and an uneasy movement.
"Who is it?" Hallie asked, in a trembling voice.
"Is that you, Hallie?" It was Ted's voice.
"Yes, it is I. Where are you?"
"Over here in the corner. Those brutes threw me down the ladder, and it stunned me. Come here. Perhaps you can untie my hands. Then we will see what chance there is for escape."
Ted was soon released, and, climbing the ladder, tried the trapdoor, but found it securely fastened.
There had been no sound above them for some time, and Ted came to the conclusion that the soldiers were gone.
He was right. When the prisoners had been thrust into the cellar, Barrows and his men rode away, leaving them alone.
Hours dragged along in the dark, and they scarcely spoke to one another, both lost in their thoughts.
Suddenly Ted started up. Outside he heard a whistle, and he listened for it to be repeated. It was the whistle of the bobwhite. He knew that there were no quail in this region at this time of the year. He knew, too, that it was an Indian signal which Stella and Singing Bird had used between them. Could it be that Stella was outside, and that she was signaling the house, and thinking it occupied, did not dare come to it? He answered it as well as he could, knowing, however, that the sound would not get beyond the cellar.
For several minutes the whistling continued, then stopped. What if they had gone away?
After a long time, it seemed, he heard a stealthy noise overhead. Some one was crawling through the window. Then there was a light step overhead.
"Ted! Hallie! Where are you?" It was Stella calling to them, and they both raised their voices in a joyous shout. Then the bolt slipped, and the trap was raised.
"Come up out of there," cried Stella, "unless you like it. Singing Bird and I started out after you. I met her on the way, and she trailed you here. She has just started back for the boys."
Outside it was night, and beyond the clearing the woods were dark. Both Ted's and Hallie's horses were gone, and it would be impossible for them to start back toward the camp without them.
"We'd better hide in the woods until morning," said Stella. "Singing Bird will guide the boys here. Besides, we do not know when that brave warrior Barrows will return with his soldiers."
"That is a good idea," said Ted, and they crossed the clearing to the woods, and found a place of concealment from which they could see all that took place at the house.
The night was far advanced, and the girls were sleeping on a couch of dried pine needles, which Ted had gathered for them.
Ted was on watch to shield them from harm, and to drive away the animals of the night.
He was half asleep himself, sitting with his back to a tree with his head on his arms, which were crossed on his knees.
An unusual sound brought him to his senses instantly, and he was listening intently.
He heard the sound of horses' feet, and the subdued rumble of men talking.
There were only two horses, and they were coming on uncertainly.
Evidently their riders did not know their way, and were feeling along in the dark, which was intense.
"It ought to be along here somewhere."
It was the voice of Woofer.
"Well, I hope it is," said another voice, "I'm tired of this night riding. When did the boss say he'd be here?"
"Early in ther mornin'. He's goin' ter make an attack on ther cow camp ter-night, an' what he don't kill he's goin' ter bring here, an' stampede ther cattle an' scatter them all over ther range."
Woofer laughed as he said it.
"I don't care much what he does," he continued, "if he'll only turn over ther Injun gal ter me. That'll be ernuff fer you an' me, I reckon."
"Then what's he goin' ter do?"
"He's goin' ter take that Croffut gal, he's jest crazy about her, an' hike her off ter ther coast, an' put her aboard a private yacht he's got there, an' that'll be ther last o' her in this community."
"What's goin' ter happen ter ther rest o' them?"
"He's got er nice little deal fixed up fer Ted Strong. He wuz tellin' me thet if I wanted it, ther job was mine. I reckon I'll take it," and Woofer laughed heartily.
"You're ter be ther executioner, eh?"
"That's about ther size o' it."
"An' yer hate yer job, eh?" This was greeted with uproarious laughter.
"Like a kid hates candy."
"What's it goin' ter be?"
"A little rope play, I reckon."
"That's yer long suit. Hello, what's this? Here we are at the cabin."
Ted heard the men dismount and enter the cabin, and then their voices roaring with rage.
"They've escaped, darn 'em!" they heard Woofer shout. "Hey, there, turn out an' hunt 'em! Ther boss will be wild when he finds this out."
"Hunt fer 'em nothin', in this dark? Yer wouldn't find 'em in a blue moon. Why, it was all we could do ter find ther cabin."
"Well, they can't git far away. We'll find 'em in ther mornin'."
They retired to the cabin again, and slammed the door.
"Did you hear that?"
Stella's hand was on Ted's arm, and she whispered to him in an awed sort of voice.
"You awake?" he said. "Yes, I heard it, but don't let it worry you. They won't get us very soon."
They heard Hallie sobbing quietly.
"What's the matter, dear?" asked Stella. "Don't be frightened."
"Suppose he does," sobbed Hallie.
"Suppose who does what?" asked Stella, throwing her arms around her friend.
"Suppose Lieutenant Barrows does get me and takes me away on a boat. Oh, I shall kill myself!"
"Never fear," said Ted. "He won't do that. Why, the whole army would be up in arms and after him before he got fifty miles."
Hallie took comfort in this, and slept again, while Ted and Stella remained on guard.
As the night wore on, they both became very sleepy, and they must have dropped into a doze, for when they awoke at the sound of a loud laugh, the sun was shining brightly, and they were surrounded by soldiers, and Woofer was looking down at them with a sneering laugh.
"Jest like ther babes in ther woods," he shouted, and the soldiers laughed with him.
Ted was on his feet in an instant, feeling for his revolver, but it was not in its accustomed place, and he suddenly remembered that it had been taken from him by the soldiers the night before.
"Whar's ther lootenant?" asked Woofer. "He'd be glad ter see this tablow."
"He's gone out inter ther woods ter walk his mad off. When he got within strikin' distance o' ther cow camp last night his sand run out, and he started back. Then when he found that his birds had flown that was ther last kick what sent him down."
"What's he goin' ter do now."
"I reckon he'll make ther best o' what he's got now. Come, git up." Woofer spoke roughly to the two girls, and they arose. "Come along back to the cabin. Ther lootenant will be mighty glad ter see yer. One o' you sour doughs hunt up ther lootenant an' tell him ther lost is found."
Ted saw that resistance was useless, and, taking the girls by the hand, he crossed the wide clearing between the woods and the cabin; at the door of which they arrived just as Barrows strode up.
One of the soldiers was busy preparing breakfast, and the others were grouped around jesting about their night's work.
The two girls were sent into the room in which Ted and Hallie had been taken the night before, but Ted was not confined, and was allowed to walk up and down in front of the cabin.
Barrows did not attempt to hold conversation with any of them, but sat at his table with his head in his hand, thinking moodily.
Evidently Barrows was an arrant coward. He had set out with the intention of ruining the Moon Valley herd, and killing all who attempted to resist him, but his courage had failed him.
Ted saw hope in this, if the boys would only arrive on time.
He thought over the conversation he had heard the night before on the arrival of Woofer and his companion at the cabin, with regard to his own fate. Evidently it meant something out of the ordinary, for it seemed to have given extreme pleasure to Woofer, for it was evidently the intention that all the advantage was to be with the cow-puncher. Well, it didn't matter much, so long as he had the ghost of a show himself. He was willing to take a long chance.
Breakfast was announced, and, as the soldiers sat down to eat, the cook came out with three tin plates on which there were bacon and bread, and tin cups of coffee for the prisoners, and they sat down together in the shade of the cabin and ate their food gratefully, for they were very hungry.
The meal was soon over, and Woofer began to strut up and down in front of the cabin.
"I reckon here's where I get my revenge, ain't it, lootenant?" he said, stopping in front of Barrows.
"Do what you please with him," said Barrows crossly, "but leave the girls alone."
"I don't want but one gal, an' she's copper colored," laughed Woofer insultingly, walking to his horse, which was already saddled.
"Now, young feller," he said to Ted, "I'm goin' ter give yer a chance fer yer white alley. I'm goin' ter try ter rope yer while yer dodges me. If I get yer, why—I'll drag yer, see?"
Ted saw that he was to have no chance for his life whatever.
He was to be afoot, while the other man was to ride and try to rope him, and, if he succeeded, drag him to death over the rough ground.
"Do you call that a chance for my life?" asked Ted.
"As much as you'll get," answered Woofer, with a canine grin. "Get out an' take a fightin' chance, or I'll rope yer an' drag yer without it."
Ted looked around the circle of grinning faces about him, and saw that there was no mercy for him. He must make the best fight he could.
Woofer had ridden out into the open and was coiling his rope in his hand ready for a cast.
As Ted walked out he saw in the grove the horses of the soldiers, and among them Sultan bridled and saddled, and a thought flashed through his mind that before the duel was ended he might find use for his beautiful stallion.
As soon as Ted was in the open, Woofer began to circle around him on a lope, steadily increasing the pony's speed, at the same time keeping the rope swinging about his head.
Ted wheeled on his heels, always keeping his face to the horseman, the pivot, as it were, of this little spectacle. Near the cabin stood the soldiers, watching the play with interest. Stella and Hallie were at one side, their eyes fastened on the scene with a sort of fascinated horror. Stella knew well the danger of the bout. In the doorway of the cabin Lieutenant Barrows leaned indifferently, smoking a cigarette, and watching the uneven contest with slight interest in its outcome, and with no regard whatever for the thing which all gentlemen hold sacred, that is, fair play.
Around and around rode Woofer, waiting for a good chance for a cast, but always finding Ted alert. But suddenly the rope flew from his hand with unerring accuracy, and Ted had just time to dodge it. It had been as swift and almost as deadly as the strike of a rattlesnake.