en gaze of the latter, wandering over the surface of the stream,
detected a dark object some distance to the right, as it showed
indistinctly on the surface, disappearing, and then slowly coming to
view again farther down. He required no one to tell him that it was the
victim of his marksmanship, drifting out of sight, as many a one had
done before, when trying to stay the advancing tide of the hated
Caucasian.

It struck the rancher that it would be well to let the Sioux know that
he was still on guard. He caught glimpses here and there of the upper
part of a repulsive face, with its long black hair and serpent-like
eyes, on the alert to catch him unawares, and he fired at the nearest.

The aim was good, but there was no reason to believe that he had
inflicted harm, though he must have come nigh it.

Strange it is that in the most trying moments, when it would seem that a
trifling thought should be impossible on the part of a person, he
sometimes gives way to a fancy that is of that nature. Recalling the
story which he had read when a boy, and which is familiar to all our
readers, the rancher now picked up his hat at his side and gently raised
it to view, taking care to lower his own head beyond reach of harm.

Instantly a couple of rifles cracked from the other side of the stream,
and he smiled grimly when he saw the marks of the bullets in the crown.

"They shoot well," he said, turning his face toward his wife and
holding up the hat, "but they made a slight mistake that time."

If the Sioux supposed that the last shots were fatal, they were likely
to repeat their attempt to cross. That would never do, and, more with a
view of letting them know no harm had resulted, than in the hope of
inflicting injury, the rancher took aim at what seemed to be the
forehead of one of the warriors, a short distance up stream, and fired.

To his amazement, the wild screech left no doubt that the shot was
fatal. The bullet had bored its way through the bronzed skull of the
miscreant, and the force of assaulting Sioux was now reduced by
one-third.

CHAPTER XII.

FACING WESTWARD.

The rancher was astonished beyond measure at the success of his shot. He
had looked for nothing of the kind, but there could be no mistake as to
the result; there was nothing to be gained by any pretence on the part
of the Sioux. He certainly was as dead as dead could be.

How he longed, like a certain famous general, for the coming of night