“Oh, take me away, take me away!” breathed the girl. “I will be quiet--I will not make a sound--but get me away from this awful place and these hateful men as quickly as you can.” The sorrow and anxiety in the girl’s words went straight to the heart of the scout. Without taking time to reply, he pulled his knife from its sheath and slashed it through the rope that bound the girl to the boulder, and then through the bonds that secured her hands and feet. Miss McGowan then attempted to stand, but her limbs, benumbed by the bonds, would not support her weight. Seeing how matters stood, the scout bent down and lifted her in his arms. Then, quickly and silently as might be, he started around into the shadow of the island and stepped out on the causeway. He had been obliged to make some noise, and to show himself very plainly, but his daring work had not aroused the men behind the breastwork. Every step he now took across the slabs brought him and the girl nearer the shore and safety. But it was too much to hope for that he should get across the frail bridge entirely unseen and undetected. Once more he was hailed huskily from the bank. “Giles!” roared the voice that had spoken before; “what the blazes are ye kerryin’ off? All that plunder on the bank is to be toted over here, and not----” “The girl!” yelled a second voice front the island. “She’s gone. Bascomb!” A wild oath leaped from the lips of the man who had been yelling at the scout, under belief that he was Giles. _Sping, sping!_ came the vicious reports of a six-shooter. The leaden bees buzzed on either side of the scout’s head, and Annie McGowan’s arms clasped frantically about his neck. “It ain’t Giles at all!” whooped Bascomb; “but it’s some other meddlin’ whelp----” “Rush after the fellow!” interrupted the frantic voice of Bernritter. “All is up with us if he gets away! Stop him! The girl! We must not let him get away with the girl!” By that time the scout had reached the kegs and the boxes. Dropping the girl down behind them, he crouched at her side and gave vent to a mocking laugh. “You fellows are close to the end of your rope!” he shouted. “It’s Buffalo Bill that’s calling your game!” The scout’s last word faded into the echo of a shot from one of his forty-fours. Bascomb and Bernritter had piled full-tilt out upon the island end of the causeway, but the scout’s bullet, fanning the air close to their heads, sent them back pell-mell into the shadow of the rocks. “Buffalo Bill!” cried a voice from the direction of the valley. “Here we are, Dell!” answered the scout. “If you come this way, be careful. Bascomb and Bernritter are watching from the island, and are ready to use their guns.” Dell Dauntless, creeping warily along the shore to the pile of kegs and boxes at the edge of the bubbling sands, came abruptly face to face with her friend, Annie McGowan. “Dell!” screamed the rescued girl tearfully.