es, to give him his eternal
quietus.

But Jack Dudley could not do such a thing. To him it was an awful act to
shoot a person, even though a savage, and his conscience would never
permit him to do so until there was no choice left to him. He would much
prefer to frighten away this intruder than to kill him.

The youth was so confident of his command of the situation that he would
have felt hardly a thrill of alarm, but for the fear that the redskin
belonged to a party near at hand who had sent him forward as a scout.
Manifestly the right course for the sentinel was to discharge his gun,
thus scaring the Indian and awaking Hazletine; but, while debating the
question with himself, he became aware that the hostile was advancing.

The fellow did this with such marvellous cunning that Jack perceived no
movement of his legs or feet. The latter were partly shrouded in shadow,
but the Indian himself suggested a statue set up among the trees.
Nevertheless he was inching toward the camp-fire, and was already a
couple of yards nearer Jack than when the latter first noticed him.

Had he approached from the other side the youth never would have
discovered his danger; but now he had his eye on the enemy, and meant to
keep it there until the crisis was over. It was perhaps ten minutes
later that the buck was within six feet of the youth, who, noiselessly
bringing his Winchester to a level, took one step toward him and asked:

_"Well, my friend, what do you want?"_

CHAPTER IV.

VISITORS OF THE NIGHT.

It takes a good deal to startle an American Indian, but if there ever
was a frightened red man it was the one who heard himself thus
addressed, and, glancing like a flash to his right, saw Jack Dudley step
forward, with a Winchester rifle leveled at him.

In the language of the West, the youth "had the drop" on the intruder,
and he knew it. Had he attempted to raise his own weapon, or to draw his
knife and assail the youth, that instant the trigger of the rifle would
have been pressed and the career of the buck would have ended then and
there, and he knew that, too; but the fact that the gun was not fired,
and that a direct question was addressed to him, told the Indian that
his master was less merciless than he would have been had their
situations been reversed.

The camp-fire was still burning brightly, and the reflection showed on
the painted visage. Jack, having stepped forward into the circle of
light, was also p