“All this means mischief,” was her conclusion. “I know my father has set the Indians up to this work of devilment, for he has sworn not to spare a paleface who enters these hills. But they shall not be caught asleep. That man of the red hand saved my life, and I will save his. I must act soon, for the work of death will not be long delayed.” Thus muttering to herself, the girl retraced her way through the cave, and, entering the cabin, took her rifle and equipments from the rack over her cot. “Valleolo, tell my father I will be back before sunset,” she said to the Indian woman who aided her in the housework. “There is danger in the forest and the valley,” the squaw warned. “Let the Pearl of the Hills hear the words of Valleolo and remain at the wigwam.” “There is no danger I fear to meet, Valleolo. I will be back at sunset.” So saying, Pearl threw her rifle across her shoulder and rapidly descended the mountainside toward the bottom of the gorge which divided the hill. Hardly had she gone half a mile down the gorge, pondering in her own mind how she was to make her news known to the whites, and not compromise her father and lead him into danger, when she was startled by a shadow falling across her path. Glancing up quickly, she brought her rifle to a ready, for before her stood the form of a man. Not an Indian warrior was he, nor Red Hand, nor her father, but one she had never before seen. He was a young man, scarcely more than twenty-five years of age, and yet with something in his face that made him appear at least thirty, for dissipation and a cruel life of crime had set their seal there. His form was slight, but elegant, and showed to advantage in closely fitting trousers and jacket of navy blue flannel, decorated with brass buttons, and with a band of gold lace encircling each sleeve. The bottoms of the trousers were stuck in a pair of handsomely topped cavalry boots, the heels of which were armed with silver spurs of the Mexican pattern. A red silk sash encircled his small waist, and but partially concealed a knife and pair of revolvers. Upon his head was a large-brimmed slouch hat, looped up upon one side with an arrow pin, and half encircled by a black ostrich plume. The face of this stylish-looking individual would have been decidedly handsome had it not been for the reckless expression resting on it, for the features were good, the eyes particularly fine, and a dark mustache and imperial, the same shade as his long, curling hair, added to his general appearance, which was that of a dashing, gay young cavalry officer. Behind the man stood a superb black horse, richly caparisoned with a Mexican saddle and bridle. Hanging to the horn of the saddle was a cavalry saber, while, as a companion to it, upon the other side, was a holster, from which protruded the butt of a revolver. At sight of this man in her pathway, the first act of Pearl was to bring her rifle to her shoulder; but in quiet tones the stranger said: