other fellow who had been chasing me had quit--and now I saw the general
and Fitz. They must have had to double and dodge, because they had not
got so far away: but here they came, out from the trees, into an open
space, across from me, and they were running strong and swift for the
slope beyond. If it was a case of speed and wind, none of that smoking,
flabby crowd could catch them.

Fitz was ahead, the general was about ten feet behind, and much farther
behind streamed the gang, Bill Delaney leading and the rest lumbering
after. Tony and the other fellow had flopped down, and never stirred to
help. They were done for.

It was quite exciting, to watch; and as the general and Fitz were
drawing right away and escaping, I wanted to cheer. They turned sharp to
make straight up-hill--and then the general fell. He must have slipped.
He picked himself up almost before he had touched the ground and plunged
on, but down he toppled, like a wounded deer. Fitzpatrick, who was
climbing fast off at one side, saw.

"Hurt?" I heard him call.

"No," answered the general. "Go on."

But Fitz didn't keep on. He turned and came right to him, although the
enemy was drawing close. The general staggered up, and sat down again.

I knew what was being said, now, although I couldn't hear anything
except the jeers of the gang as they increased speed. The general was
hurt, and he was telling Fitz to go and save himself, and Fitz wouldn't.
He sat there, too, and waited. Then, just as the gang closed in, and
Bill Delaney reached to grab Fitz, the general saw me and made me the
sign to go on, and the sign of a horse and rider.

Yes, that was my part, now. I was the one who must follow the beaver
man, who had taken our message. The message was the most important
thing. We must get that through no matter what happened. And while Fitz
and the general could help each other, inside, I could be trailing the
message, and maybe finding Henry and Carson and Smith, outside.

So I started on. The enemy was leading the general, who could just
hobble, and Fitz, back to the camp. Loyal old Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand,
who had helped his comrade instead of saving himself!

CHAPTER IX

JIM BRIDGER ON THE TRAIL

I turned, and climbed the hill. It was a long hill, and hot, but I
wanted to get up where I could see. The top was grassy and bare, and
here I stopped, to find out where things were.

Off in one direction (which was southwest, by the sun) r