ing in the air over the heads of those
gathered about the blaze, and something hit the ground in the midst of
the circle.

"What's that?" exclaimed Nort

"An arrow!" answered Bud, and so it proved. An Indian arrow--of the
sort used by the Redmen years ago, and hard to pick up now, even as
relics--quivered in the ground near the blaze. And by the flickering
flames it was seen that a paper was rolled about it.

In an instant Bud had leaped to his feet, plucked the arrow from the
ground, and torn off the paper. By the light of the fire he read it.

"Another warning!" cried Bud.

"What does it say?" demanded Dick.

Bud read:

"Two wasn't enough. This is the third and last! Leave Flume Valley!"

There was silence for a moment, and then Bud, crushing the scrawled
warning in his hand, cried:

"I'd like to see 'em drive me out!"

"That's th' way to talk!" shouted Yellin' Kid. "We'll stick!"

They gathered about, discussing the sinister warning that had been sent
to them in such a sensational manner. There was no clue to tell where
it had come from, for no one had noticed the direction whence the arrow
had been shot. The message itself was written, or, rather, printed on
a piece torn from a paper bag, and the writing was in pencil. The
paper was common enough in those parts, and the use of printing, in
place of handwriting, would, it seemed, preclude any tracing.

"We'd better keep a double watch to-night," suggested Bud, when a hasty
inspection in the vicinity of the camp had revealed no one.

"We shore will!" asserted Old Billee.

The night hours passed, a double guard watching with keen eyes for any
sign of strangers approaching the reservoir or the cattle. But, in
spite of all precautions, the half-expected happened.

It was toward morning, when Nort and Dick had turned out of warm beds
to relieve Pocut Pete and Snake Purdee that a confused noise at the
extreme end of the valley gave notice that something was wrong.

"What's that?" asked Bud, who had ridden into camp at the conclusion of
his tour of duty.

As if in answer came distant shots, the howls of coyotes and the
snorting of cattle, mingled with a rush which told its own story.

"Stampede!" yelled Bud. "They're trying to stampede our herd and drive
'em off! Come on, fellows!"

And all within the sound of his voice rallied to repel the night
attack, for such it proved to be.

Leaping into their saddles, Nort and Dick followed Bu