THAT night, after a bountiful meal, George Shelton quietly said to his brother:

“You remember, Victor, that you and I left home on the morning of the turkey shoot, telling father that we didn’t wish to stay and win the prize?”

“Of course, but nobody believed us.”

“I don’t suppose anyone did, but if you had gone into that foot-race against Deerfoot and Ralph Genther, neither would have had a show. I never dreamed how fast you can run till I saw that antelope after you.”

“See here now, George, what’s the use of talking forever about that? You would have done just as I did if you saw a wild animal coming down on you like a whirlwind, and just after you had wounded him.”

“I suppose I should, but I couldn’t have made the time you did.”

“I wonder whether Deerfoot will come up with us to-night,” remarked Victor, anxious to change the subject of conversation, and peering in the gloom to the southward.

“No,” replied the grinning Mul-tal-la; “you will see nothing of our brother for some days. He will not let Whirlwind use his leg till he knows he can’t hurt it, and that won’t be for some time yet.”

The camp had been made on the slope of the ridge, over which they had passed once or twice, and at the base of which meandered a small stream that finally made its way into one of the tributaries of the Platte, and so finally reached the Gulf of Mexico. Beyond this water the land sloped upward again. Thus it will be seen that our friends were near the bottom of a valley, covered with succulent grass, and showing here and there growths of willows and a species of alfalfa, whose bark sometimes serves animals for food, but owing to the small size of the growth itself the wood is comparatively worthless.

It was the turn of Victor to mount guard for the first half of the night. The horses had become so accustomed to the routine that, after packs, saddles and bridles were removed, they could be trusted to crop the herbage until ready to lie down for the night. Zigzag had gotten into the habit of nibbling much longer than his companions. Perhaps his teeth were not so good, but the sentinels had often observed him moving here and there long after his companions were asleep. George Shelton named his natural stubbornness as the cause, though the charge was hardly fair.

The night had progressed far enough for George to wrap himself in his blanket, for the night was quite cold, and lie down with his feet to the fire. The Blackfoot was not yet ready to sleep. Instead, he sat with his blanket around his shoulders and seemed to sink into a reverie. He remained motionless for a long time, gazing absently into the fire and saying nothing to anyone. At last Victor gently reminded him that he was at liberty to sleep while the boy guarded the camp.

Instead of lying down the Indian rose to his feet and stood for some minutes looking off to the northward toward the nearest stretch of mountains or the opposite side of the valley. It was as if he had noted something in that direction which interested him. He turned to the boy:

“Let not my brother fear; Mul-tal-la will not be away long.”

And with this remark he walked down the slope, soon passing from sight in the gloom.

“That’s a queer piece of business,” reflected Victor. “I wonder what’s the matter; maybe he’s seen some of his people over yonder and has gone to call upon them.”

However, there was no cause for misgiving, and the youth gave the Blackfoot no further thought, knowing he would return when he thought proper. Meanwhile the brothers need not fear disturbance from man or animal.

The weather was still clear, though the travelers had observed a heavy black cloud over the mountains, just before sunset, which threatened a downpour of rain, but the black mass was moving northward above the peaks and soon disappeared. The moon was near the end of the first quarter, and shed enough light for one to see quite clearly for a distance of fifty yards more or less. This illumination was steady, for not a cloud drifted across its face to produce the shifting shadows and alternations of light and obscurity which often mystified the man or boy on guard.

It had struck Victor more than once that whoever acted as sentinel was—for most of the time—wasting the hours that might as well have been spent in rest. Not once had anyone been in danger of attack from wild animals, nor since crossing the Mississippi had any Indians molested them. Moreover, he was sure that in the event of anything of the kind the horses would give timely warning. But Deerfoot had made the order, before leaving the young State of Ohio, that never was the camp to be left unguarded, and while he was with them the rule had not been disobeyed. It was useless to protest to the Shawanoe, who had a way of enforcing his views which no one dared oppose. No argument, therefore, had been offered, and that sense of honor which was ingrained with the twins made each more careful of carrying out the views of the “guide, counsellor and friend” during his absence than when he was with them. Consequently, Victor Shelton, resting his gun over his shoulder, began slowly pacing to and fro, after the manner of a veteran sentinel. His beat was twenty steps or so, and one termination brought him near where the horses had already lain down for the night. Rather it should be said that only three of them had done so, for Zigzag, acting out his queer disposition, was seen moving slowly here and there as he munched the lush grass. He was likely to keep it up for an hour or two, and the boy gave no heed to him.

A monotonous hour had worn away when Victor’s attention was drawn to the wakeful horse. He was standing with head raised, bits of grass dripping from his jaws, ears pricked, and staring toward the other side of the valley, as if he had discovered something in that direction.

“I guess Mul-tal-la is coming back,” was the thought of the lad, “and Zigzag hasn’t noticed that he is absent.”

But no Blackfoot came into view in the dim light, and the animal’s restlessness, instead of passing, became more marked. He threw his head still higher, looked more keenly and emitted a faint neigh.

“I wonder what’s the matter with him,” said Victor, turning aside from his beat and walking out to the animal, whom he patted and tried to soothe. To his astonishment............