dians,
and why they had watched the trappers so long and so closely. There was a
certain pale face with them who was their leader and who had been a 'heap
big robber' on the big river. He had offered a reward for Dad's life to
every Indian in the party. He had invented the stampede, and when the men
were faint with hunger and watching, they would be back to kill them all.
Dad was to be hung in honor of the occasion, to celebrate the day the
pirate had made his escape from Dad's father. In a few hours the Indian
died. Dad kept his secret to himself, although he was greatly disturbed
over it. He was being hunted--hunted by a savage worse than any red man
that ever shot a bow or took a scalp. He remembered, now, that many of
his comrades of that memorable raid had since mysteriously disappeared.
The truth flashed upon him in an instant. Shorty Thunder, the river
pirate, was taking his revenge. Slowly but surely he was hounding down
every man that had sought his life that day.

"In a few days the trapping party was picked up by another hunting party.

"What's the matter, Ham? Are you getting sleepy?" called Mr. Allen as he
arose to replenish the fire. Ham had sprawled out on the ground and was
looking off into the dark woods, all alert.

"Sh-h-, you," he whispered as he motioned them not to move. "I saw
something move out there in those bushes just now; I'll bet my hat on
it."

"O sugar," said Phil. "Something moved, did it? What do you suppose it
was, an elephant?"

Just then Fat raised his finger cautiously. "Quiet, there, a second, you
rubes. Use your eyes more instead of your mouths, and you'll see more.
Can't you see that light spot right over there?" pointing into the
darkness with a very crooked stick he had been fooling with. All sat
quietly listening and watching, but to no avail. They could see nothing.

"Go on with your story, Mr. Allen," urged Ham. "What's river pirates got
to do with the destruction of the Old Road House, that's what I'd like to
know." The crowd settled themselves again for the rest of the story.

"Well, it's like this, Ham," continued Mr. Allen. "Every great story has
a preface, and I've been telling you the preface so far." Ham let out a
few long, extra well-developed snores. "Say, Fat, wake me when he gets to
the beginning of the first chapter, will you?"

"Finally Dad came to Colorado--just why, I don't know; but he prospected
hereabouts a good deal in the early days, and when gold