ans should they rise in force."

"An' them Sioux under Spotted Cloud, or whatever else they call their
precious chief, ain't to be despised, I guess, in a free fight," said
Seth.

"Pray don't talk any more about them," said the young engineer,
laughing, as he took off his wideawake and ran his fingers through his
curly brown hair. "I declare my scalp feels quite ticklish already."

"Them redskins 'ud tickle it a sight worse if they got holt of it," said
Seth grimly, cocking his rifle as he spoke. "But I reckon I heerd
somethin' russlin' about thaar to the back of yer, mister," he added
suddenly, gazing intently in the direction he had intimated, to the rear
of the young engineer, where the prairie-grass had already grown to some
height.

"What was it?" said Mr Rawlings, likewise preparing his weapon, and
telling Ernest to follow suit. "Did you see it at all?"

And he peered anxiously about to the right and left.

"Yes, jist for a minnit," responded the ex-mate. "It wer a longish
sorter animale; a catamount or a wolf, maybe. Thaar! Thaar! I seed it
again! Jerusalem! I have it!"

And he fired as he spoke, quick as lightning, as a dark object bounded
from the cover and made a direct plunge at the young engineer, who was
taken unawares, and came to the ground, as much from the suddenness of
the shock as from the impulse of the animal's spring.

"Stay!" shouted Mr Rawlings, as Seth was rushing forwards with his
clubbed rifle to where Ernest Wilton and his assailant appeared
struggling together amidst the grass that almost concealed them from
view. "I'll settle the beast, if you hold back a minute and let me have
a clear aim."

But before he could get a shot, or Seth deal the deadly blow he
contemplated with the butt-end of his rifle, Ernest Wilton uttered an
exclamation that stopped them both--an exclamation of surprise and
agonised entreaty.

"Don't fire!" he cried out in a voice which was half laughing, half
crying. "Don't fire, Mr Rawlings. It is only Wolf."

"Wolf! who's Wolf?" said Mr Rawlings and Seth together, as Ernest
Wilton rose to his feet; the ex-mate adding under his breath, with a
whistle to express astonishment on his part, in his usual way when so
affected, "Jerusalem! this beats Bunker's Hill, anyhow!"

"The dearest and most faithful dog, companion, friend, that any one ever
had," said Ernest with much emotion, caressing a fine, though
half-starved-looking Scotch deer-hound, that a