d," said Rasco, and this the Irish
woman did willingly. Soon Rasco was tearing over the prairie, followed
by Humpendinck, Delaney, Clemmer and by Dick, who borrowed a horse from
another boomer.

The trail left by Yellow Elk was easily followed to the vicinity of
Honnewell, but here it led away to the southwest and was swallowed up
among the bushes and rocks leading down into the ravine previously
mentioned.

"Oi reckon thot's the trail," said Delaney, after an examination.

"And I vos dink dot ist der trail," put in Humpendinck.

"An' I calkerlate this is the trail," added Cal Clemmer.

Each pointed in a different direction, while Rasco and Dick were of the
opinion that none of them were right and that the trail led up the
ravine, just as it really did.

An interruption now occurred. There was a stir in the bushes above their
heads, and an elderly scout peered down upon them, rifle in hand.

"Hullo, Jack Rasco, wot's the best word? Whar is Pawnee Brown?"

"Dan Gilbert!" cried Rasco. "Come down, Pawnee ought to be somewhere
about here."

In a moment more Dan Gilbert, a heavy-set, pleasant-looking
frontiersman, stood among them. A hasty consultation immediately
followed. Dan Gilbert was on his way back to where he had left the blaze
on the tree, and it was decided that Rasco and Dick should accompany
him, while Clemmer, Delaney and Humpendinck went to reconnoitre in the
opposite direction. A double pistol shot from either party was to bring
the other to its aid.

In less than five minutes the first party was on its way to the blazed
tree. Dan Gilbert feeling certain that if Pawnee Brown had passed that
way he must have seen the sign and left word of his own.

"If Pawnee was down here you can bet he spotted that Injun if he came
within a hundred yards of him," said Gilbert. "He can smell a red like
a cat can smell a rat."

The tree reached, the frontiersman threw back the flat rock and brought
forth the message left by the great scout. He read it aloud.

"Following Yellow Elk!" cried Jack Rasco. "I know the rascal! And it was
he as stole my gal! Jess wait till I git my hand on his windpipe, thet's
all! Whar's thet cave, Gilbert?"

"I don't know, but it must be somewhere up the ravine. Come on."

And away went the trio, on the hunt for Yellow Elk, Pawnee Brown and
poor Nellie Winthrop.

CHAPTER XVI.

ATTACKED BY A WILDCAT.

"You fiend!"

This was all Pawnee Brown could say, as with a face fu