she had entered it.

"We are all right," he called; "we will be over in a jiffy."

To his astonishment there was no response. He pronounced his wife's
name, but still no reply came. Then he moved up and down the bank,
stirred by an awful fear, but heard and found her not.

CHAPTER XVI.

A THIEF OF THE NIGHT.

When the rancher entered the current with the two ponies, the interest
of the wife, who remained behind with little Dot, was centred wholly in
his effort to ford the stream. She stood on the very margin of the
water, where, though unable to see the form of the rider or either of
the animals, she could hear the sound made by them in passing through
the current.

In this position, the pack-pony remained a few steps behind her and
about half-way to the open plain. The child, who had been somewhat
disturbed by the shifting about of herself, had fallen asleep again and
rested motionless in her arms, with her form nestling in the protecting
blanket.

Everything was silent except the slight noise caused by the animals in
the water. In this position, with her nerves strung to the highest
point, and her faculties absorbed in the single one of hearing, she
caught a suspicious sound immediately behind her. It was as if Jerry was
moving from the spot where he had been left.

Fearful of his going astray, her lips parted to speak, when,
fortunately, she held her peace. It might be that some person was the
cause of his action.

With the purpose of learning the truth, she stole through the timber
toward the spot where he was standing a few minutes before. She was so
close behind him, and moved so much faster, that she reached the open
plain almost on his heels. Despite the gloom, she could make out his
figure; and her feelings may be imagined when she distinguished the form
of a Sioux warrior leading him.

Not only that, but the thief paused as soon as the open prairie was
reached and lightly vaulted upon his back, beside the load already
resting there. Then he hammered his heels against his ribs and the lazy
beast rose to a jogging trot, immediately disappearing in the snow and
darkness.

The wife, as may be supposed, was dumfounded and uncertain what to do,
if indeed she could do anything. At the moment when it looked as if all
danger was past, one of their enemies had unexpectedly stolen their
pack-pony.

Where were the rest? Why did they content themselves with this simple
act, when they might have do