r hands! You can't get at me before my
bullet reaches you, see?"

For many moments Broken Feather stared at the shining ring of steel in
front of Kiddie's steadily held hand. He saw Kiddie's finger twitching
against the trigger, and knew for a certainty that Kiddie would not
hesitate to shoot if his command were disobeyed.

"Put up your hands," Kiddie reiterated.

Broken Feather's tomahawk was now hanging by its thong from his wrist.
Slowly and very reluctantly he raised his two empty hands above his
head.

"Right," Kiddie nodded, lowering his weapon, but still keeping it
turned in the same direction. "You've saved your precious life. And
now you'd best call off your warriors before there's any more blood
spilt. D'you understand? Put an end to this needless battle, and quit
right away, with what's left of your army. You're tryin' to fly a bit
too high, my man. But you're not made big enough. Give up tryin'. Go
back to your reservation, and try to live a decent, honourable life of
peace and usefulness."

Broken Feather drew down his hands, and folded his arms across his
chest, sitting very upright astride of his horse.

"I have not asked advice from you, Lord St. Olave," he said.

"It isn't advice I'm giving you," returned Kiddie. "It's a command.
Draw off your warriors right now, and quit, while you have the chance."

He again raised his weapon, and urged his pony a few steps nearer. But
Broken Feather did not wait. Seizing his bridle, he pulled his mustang
round and galloped away.

Kiddie then advanced to where Rube Carter was lying. He dismounted.

"Why did you let him off like that, Kiddie?" Rube asked, one hand up to
his wounded cheek. "You might have shot him easy. Why don't you go
after him?"

"What?" said Kiddie, going down on his knees; "and leave you here,
without help? Not likely. My! you do look pretty, with all that blood
about your face. Take away your hand, and let's have a look at where
you're hurt. What's become of your pony?"

"Dunno," Rube answered feebly. "I was thrown, an' he ran off on his
own. I've hurt my hip some. Don't think I c'n walk. Wound on my
cheek ain't much, is it, Kiddie?"

"Nothing serious," Kiddie told him, taking out his pocket case. "A
strip or two of stickin' plaster 'll fix it up till we get home.
Bullet went very near your eye, though. Say, how d'you happen to be
here? I expected to find you away back there, where I told you to
wait. G