Dell Dauntless was not only a daring and pretty young woman, but she was also a most determined one. She was not obstinate or foolhardy, as the colonel, perhaps, was tempted to think her. It was merely that she knew her own resourcefulness much better than did her friends at the post. Skilled in plainscraft and versed in the ways of the wilderness, she knew well her abilities to get through a hostile country. She asked no odds of renegades, white or red--simply an even chance in the broad country. Her cayuse, Silver Heels, had had several days of absolute rest at the post, gorging himself the while on government fodder. He was in fine fettle, and ready, if necessary, to make the race of his life. As Nomad had had the trick of talking to his horse, Nebuchadnezzar, so Dell had acquired the habit of communing with Silver Heels--not a rare thing with people when duty leads them in solitary ways with only a horse for company. “The good old colonel is afraid the ’Paches will catch us, Silver,” said the girl, when they had flung past the sentry at the gate and laid their course southward, “but he doesn’t know our mettle, does he?” She laughed softly, but instantly sobered as thoughts of the king of scouts and his pards flashed into her mind. “It can’t be, little horse,” she went on, “that Buffalo Bill, and Nomad, and Cayuse have fallen by the hands of Geronimo. Nothing can make me believe it; I _won’t_ believe it! “We’ll ride to Bonita with the sergeant, but we’ll not stop and wait for the sergeant, Silver. Oh, no. We’re too clever for _that_. It would be like the colonel to send somebody after us, so show me your best pace, and we’ll first distance pursuit before we join the sergeant. If I’m any judge, he’ll take the direct trail to Beaver River, for if the ’Paches are anywhere, they’ll be in the country to the south of the Beaver. We’ll lay for the sergeant at the ford, pony, and we’ll get to the river just as quick as the nation will let us.” The small spurs jingled, and the white cayuse snorted and plunged ahead into the starlight. Silver Heels was a wonder when it came to the matter of speed. The ground jumped from under him at a terrific clip, and Dell, leaning far over the saddle-horn, peered steadily ahead. She was not worrying any about the trail behind, for she knew that her present pace would bid defiance to any pursuers who might be sent after her. Greasewood clumps and mesquit chaparral hurled past her, and she glimpsed their gloomy tangles as a traveler might view them from the window of a railroad-coach. “You’re the limited express, Silver,” she murmured jestingly, “and Beaver River is the only place where you can take water. Hustle, boy!” And Silver Heels “hustled.” Without let or stay he reeled off the dizzy miles, seemingly proud to show his speed and mettle.