led.

Here and there from under the wagons on the threatened side of the
encampment guns stabbed into the night, showing where tenderfeet were
gallantly engaged in guessing matches. Arrows curved over the wagon tops
and some of the torch wavers on the other side of the camp had narrow
escapes before their purpose was accomplished and the torches burned
out.

A cricket chirped twice and then twice again not far from Joe Cooper's
little wagon, and the alert plainsman crouched behind an outer wheel
answered by three short trills. "Don't shoot, Uncle Joe," Tom softly
called. "That's Hank."

Hank seemed to be having a hard time of it and made more noise than was
his wont. Alarmed, Tom was about to crawl out and help his friend to the
corral when Hank's querulous complaint barely reached him.

"Danged if ye ain't so plumb full o' buffaler meat ye nigh weigh a ton,"
growled the hunter. "Yourn as heavy as mine, Jim?"

"Wuss," complacently answered Ogden.

"Huh!" snorted another voice, crowding so much meaning into the grunt
that he had the best of the little exchange and the last word.

"If I could twang like you, Hank," said Ogden, pausing a moment to rest,
"I'd have a hull dozen, danged if I wouldn't. Mine's got nigh ter six
feet o' feathers a-hangin' ter him."

Tom rocked back and forth, laughing silently. "Then he makes up fer th'
rest o' yer dozen!" he gasped. "Hostages, by th' Great Horned Spoon!" He
made some funny noises in his throat and gasped again. "A _chief_, too!"

"An' a plumb waste o' good ha'r," growled Hank. "But jest now it's wuth
more on thar heads than fastened ter our belts. Hyar, haul this hyar
warrior o' mine under th' waggin. I'm all tuckered out."

"Hank kin shoot more arrers with his mouth than some Injuns kin with
thar bows," panted Jim, grasping a spoke and yanking his captive roughly
against the wheel. "All I kin imitate is a lance." He chuckled at his
joke and rested.

"When Hank twanged, Big Polecat, hyar, got right up an' stumbled plumb
over me," said Zeb's weary voice. "I near busted his skull with that
newfangled pistol. It's heftier than I'm used ter. Wonder is I didn't
bash his brains out. Hyar, gimme a hand, I can't hardly wiggle no more."

"Wonder what them danged fools air firin' at?" queried Hank, as several
shots rang out in quick succession from the other side of the
encampment. "Don't they know th' dance is over till mornin'?"

"Oh, them greenhorns'll be shootin' all ni