Cayuse was about ten feet above the ground, his eyes were closed and his head was drooping forward. “Cayuse?” cried the scout, halting close and peering up at the slender form. Instantly the boy opened his eyes and threw back his head. “Wuh!” he answered. “What fiends those Apaches are!” exclaimed Dell. “They drew him up there and left him to die!” The scout drew his revolver. “What are you about to do, Buffalo Bill?” the girl asked. “I could cut the rope with two or three bullets,” answered the scout hesitatingly, “or I could ride up on my horse----” “You couldn’t reach him on your horse, or, at least, you wouldn’t be able to reach the rope. Put up your revolver, Buffalo Bill, and leave it to me.” Dell took a position in front of Cayuse and drew the bowie-knife that swung at her belt. “What can you do with that?” asked the scout. “Cut the rope above Cayuse’s hands.” The scout started and stared at the girl. Such a feat, if successfully accomplished, would be one of the most remarkable he had ever seen. To throw a knife and keep it perpendicular was comparatively easy; but, in order to sever the rope, Dell would have to throw the blade so that its edge would meet the rope horizontally. “Are you sure you can do it?” went on the scout gravely. “I would not try if I were not.” “If you made a miss----” “I know what would happen if I made a miss, but I shall not. Stand close enough to catch him when the rope parts, Buffalo Bill.” Dell Dauntless was perfectly cool. The scout marveled at her self-control, and her stony calmness. Without removing her gauntlet, she took the knife in her right hand by the point; then she measured the distance and the height with a quick eye. Once, twice, three times her hand went up in a circle, the pearl handle of the bowie flashing in the sun. “Now!” she murmured. There was a second or two in the preparation for the throw, but the feat itself consumed less than a second. “Bravo!” cried Buffalo Bill, as the girl hurled the knife and its edge bit into the rope above Little Cayuse’s head. The rope was not cut cleanly through, but the few strands that were left parted quickly, and Cayuse shot downward into the scout’s arms. Carrying the boy to the horses, Buffalo Bill laid him on the ground. Dell took her canteen from the saddle-horn, sank down beside the boy, and took his head on her knee. Her tenderness as she ministered to Cayuse gave the scout a glimpse of another side of her nature. “Poor little chap!” she murmured, pressing the canteen to his lips. “You had a tough time of it, didn’t you?” The water gurgled down the boy’s throat, and his black eyes gazed into the blue ones above him, then swerved to the scout. For a few moments he lay quietly, while the scout removed the rope from his wrists and the girl removed her gauntlets and chafed his temples with her soft hands. “Ugh!” grunted Little Cayuse suddenly. “White squaw got heap good heart; but Cayuse no squaw, him warrior.”