When Little Cayuse crept down to the mouth of the mine, in the inky blackness of the very early morning, after the moon had gone down, it was the native instinct that led him in the narrow trail along the brink of the abyss. His tread was noiseless, in spite of the uneven footing and unseen obstacles. Looking up toward the sky, he could follow the dim outline of the mountaintop and knew he was near the entrance to the mine. Then the strong odor of tobacco smoke came to his nostrils. For an instant the Indian youth felt that the smoker must be within reach of his arm. In breathless silence he listened: “P’ff, p’ff, p’ff,” came the soft forcing of the smoke through enjoying lips. Then a moist piece of tobacco in the pipe sizzled spitefully, and minute sparks shot up from the bowl for an instant, disclosing the half-closed eyes of the guard. Cayuse crouched low and awaited some movement of the man that would drown the slight rustle of his own advance. Deliberately and comfortably the guard puffed away until his pipe had gone out. Then he yawned and dropped his pipe, during which performance Cayuse had passed him and felt the more even footing of the interior under his moccasins. But he had barely passed into the mouth of the mine, and while not ten feet from the guard, when the latter suddenly became stiff and silent, as if listening intently. Then Cayuse heard the faint swish of clothing for a moment, and then the sudden scrape of a match along a trouser leg, followed by the splutter and bright glare of a match. The boy’s hand was on his revolver, and his muscles were tense as whipcords, as the guard held the match aloft and peered out into the night, trying to pierce the darkness beyond the narrow circle of light. It was a critical moment for the Piute. If the guard turned his head ever so slightly before the match went out, he could catch a glimpse of the intruder, and neither would know what action the other might take. Cayuse’s black eyes watched the man’s head as the match flickered and went out. He was not discovered. For a moment there was silence, and then Cayuse heard the guard fumbling on the floor for his pipe, swearing softly the while. Once more Cayuse advanced, while the other was occupied. The guard was filling his smoker again, and Cayuse gained many feet. Now another match flared up, and in the intermittent flashes, as the guard sucked the blaze into his bowl, Cayuse plainly saw the features of the man. It was Bloody Ike. With catlike movements the Indian boy felt his way down the slope. Here and there the rotting brattice crumbled at his touch, and pieces fell with a soft thud, but he was now far from the guard at the mouth. He was tempted to strike a match, but denied himself the comfort of a glance at his surroundings, fearing another guard might be posted where there was a divergence of slopes or at the spot where Pa-e-has-ka and Hickok were held.