had now crept near enough to the mining camp to get a fair idea
of what it contained. He saw a wealth of horse-flesh and mule-flesh,
every quadruped of it worth half a dozen Indian ponies, and his
ambition almost lifted him up from the grass. It stirred any amount of
reckless daring, and it made him remember all the stories he had ever
heard of famous chiefs who stole into camps and then stripped them clean
of everything. He was already that kind of chief in his own estimation,
and did not know that within a hundred yards of him there sat a white
boy, of about his own age, not so tall but broader in the shoulders, who
was at that moment recalling a long list of just such stories.

Sile had fairly read up on Indian fiction before he left home, and his
ideas of the way some things could be done were a little misty. He could
hardly sit still for one moment, and preferred to stroll around among
the horses to make sure no red man's hand was reaching out for one of
them. Old Pine smiled grimly now and then, for he felt perfectly safe on
the Indian question, but at last he heard an unaccountable rustling at
one end of the corral, and then a loud hurrah from Sile.

The idea had been in Sile's head that his proper course was to go about
very much as if he were himself about to steal the horses, and his
noiseless movements carried him to the outer edge of the corral at
exactly the right moment. He was standing at the side of a tall mule, in
the shadow of it and completely hidden, when he saw something darker
than a shadow glide out from between two tall weeds and swiftly writhe
its way forward. His heart beat like a trip-hammer. His first thought
was to use his rifle, but it was a new and dreadful thing to take a
human life, and he could not lift his weapon. His eyes said, "Not a
large Indian," and his hands let go of the rifle. The next instant, and
just as Two Arrows rose to his feet, Sile sprang forward and grappled
with him.

It was a most perilous thing to do, considering that Two Arrows carried
a knife; but the young Nez Perce had also been thinking, and had made up
his mind that "war" was no part of his errand. His tribe was at peace
with the pale-faces, except as to horse-flesh, and that fact saved
Sile's life. He had been accounted the best wrestler in his set, at home
and at school, and his muscles were in capital order. It was not by any
means an uneven match, therefore, and Two Arrows would have been glad
enough to