ve!"

The Indian girl obeyed--as far as springing into action went. The gun
she held went to her shoulder, but its muzzle did not point at the
actors above her. Instead, the threatening weapon pointed directly at
the head of the villain who was forcing Ruth off her insecure footing on
the narrow path.

"What are you doing, Wonota? Wonota!" shouted Mr. Hooley, who could not
see Ruth at all.

The Indian girl made no reply. She drew bead upon the head of Dakota
Joe, and his glaring eyes were transfixed by the appearance of the
gaping muzzle of Wonota's gun.

He dropped the stick with which he had forced Ruth to the edge of the
path. She fell sideways, dizzy and faint, clinging to the rough rock
with both hands. As it was, she came near rolling over the declivity
after all.

But it was Dakota Joe, in his sudden panic, who came to disaster. He had
always been afraid of Wonota. She was a dead shot, and he believed that
she would not shrink from killing him.

Now it appeared that the Indian girl held his life in her hands. The
muzzle of her weapon looked to Dakota Joe at that moment as big as the
mouth of a cannon!

He could see her brown finger curled upon the trigger. Each split second
threatened the discharge of the gun.

With a stifled cry he tried to leap out of the crack and along the path
down which he had come so secretly. But he stumbled. His riding boots
were not fit for climbing on such a rugged shelf. Stumbling again, he
threw out one hand to find nothing more stable to clutch than the empty
air!

"Wonota!" shouted Hooley again. "Stop!" He raised his hand, stopping the
cameras.

And at that moment there hurtled over the edge of the path a figure
that, whirling and screaming, fell all the distance to the bottom of the
canyon. Helen and Jennie, for a breathless instant, thought it must be
Ruth, for they knew where she had been hidden. But the voice that roared
fear and imprecations was not at all like Ruth Fielding's!

"Who's that?" shouted Mr. Hammond, likewise excited. "He's spoiled that
shot, I am sure."

Ruth sat up on the shelf and looked over.

"Oh!" she cried. "Is he killed?"

"He ought to be, if he isn't," growled Mr. Hooley. "What did you do that
for, Wonota?"

The Indian girl advanced upon the man writhing on the ground. Dakota Joe
saw her coming and set up another frightened yell.

"Don't let her shoot me! Don't let her!" he begged.

"Shut up!" commanded Mr. Hammond. "The gun only h