ide forward and grasp his hand. "Is it
really you, Glen?" he exclaimed, his voice choked with feeling; "and
where, in the name of all that is mysterious, have you been?"

"It is really I," answered the boy, "and I've been a prisoner in the
hands of the Cheyennes, and had a glorious time."

It really did seem as though he had had a good time, now that it was all
over with, and he was the owner of that beautiful mare. Besides, he
could not fully realize the nature of the fate he had escaped.

Then the others crowded about him, and General Lyle himself shook hands
with him, and wanted to hear his story at once. While he was telling it
as briefly as possible, the joyful news of his appearance flew back
through the train, and the boys came running up to see him, and shake
hands with him, and nearly pulled him off his horse in their eagerness
to touch him and assure themselves that he was really alive.

"Hurrah for the Baldheads!" shouted the irrepressible Brackett; "they
don't get left! not much!"

Even Binney Gibbs came and shook hands with him.

That evening, after the camp was somewhat quieted from its excitement,
and after Glen had told his story for about the twentieth time, he
disappeared for a short while. When he returned he brought with him an
Indian boy, who limped painfully, and seemed very ill at ease in the
presence of so many strange pale-faces.

"Who's your friend, Glen?"

"Where are the rest of the ten little Injuns?" shouted the fellows as
they crowded about this new object of interest.

When at length a partial quiet was restored, Glen begged them to listen
to him for a few minutes, as he had something to propose that he was
sure would interest them, and they shouted,

"Fire away, old man, we are all listening!"

Chapter XXI.

LAME WOLF, THE YOUNG CHEYENNE.

"Look here, fellows," said Glen, as he stood with one hand on the
shoulder of the young Indian, and facing his companions, who, attracted
by curiosity, were gathered to hear what he had to say. "This chap is a
Cheyenne, and is one of the three by whom I was captured; but he was
mighty kind, and did everything he could think of to make things easy
for me. So you see he is my friend, and now that he is in trouble, I am
bound to do what I can to help him. His name is Lame Wolf--" (here the
young Indian stood a little straighter, and his eyes flashed. He had
succeeded in having that name recognized as belonging to him, at any
rate),