tigate, for fear of ambush. All
that they could do was to patiently await the coming of morning.

"With the first rays of light all looked anxiously toward where the
horses had been picketed so carelessly. They were gone, every one of
them. A hasty examination told the tale. Under the cover of the intense
darkness, the hobbles and the picket ropes had been cut at the pins, so
as not to disturb the horses or waken the sleeping trappers. After the
ropes were cut, the Indians had ridden pell-mell past the free animals,
and they, finding their fastenings gone, had joined the stampede. It was
a clever game, and the trappers had lost. What were they to do--fifteen
days' journey from any assistance, and not a horse within a hundred
miles?

"As they climbed a hill on the far side of the river, to take a look at
the surrounding country, they heard a faint whinny, and there, in the
bottom of the gulch, lay one of their horses, stretched at full length.
His feet had become entangled in the long picket rope, and he had fallen
at the edge of the washout with a badly-broken leg. The party gathered
about the unfortunate animal, lamenting the fact that he must be shot to
relieve him of his suffering.

"As they stood talking, Dad noticed a movement in a nearby clump of
bushes. Was he mistaken? He quietly told his partner what he had seen,
and, with rifles leveled, the two cautiously approached the spot. There
was, however, no need of fear, for it turned out to be only a young
Indian boy, and he badly injured. He had probably been riding the horse
before its fall. Everybody was for instantly shooting the lad except Dad,
who protested, explaining that the boy might be able to give them
valuable information as to the number of Indians in the war party, and
something of their future plans. This seemed to be reasonably wise, so
the wounded Indian was taken back to the trappers' camp.

"For many days he kept silence, never once speaking to any one, growing
weaker and weaker every day from his injuries. Finally he was taken with
an awful fever, and every man in the party knew that nothing could
possibly save him. Dad nursed him and cared for him as patiently as if he
had been one of their own party. When the Indian learned that he was to
be treated kindly for the present, at least, he called for Dad, making
feeble signs that he wanted to talk to him secretly. After a long and
painful effort he made Dad understand who was with the band of In