“You’re skittisher’n a two-year-old, and ain’t got any more sense, when you smells Injuns,” Nick grumbled. “Stand still, now; they’re comin’ erlong, I know, but they ain’t nigh enough ter bite ye!” Old Nebuchadnezzar had made a rapid run since the Blackfeet were sighted, more than two miles back. The homely, shaggy-haired beast had been too fleet for the Blackfeet ponies. His sides were heaving now, and sweat trickled down his legs, dripping to the ground. Yet he was ready to go on; and so much did he fear Indians that he would have run until he fell, if Nomad had but given him rein and urged him a little. Nomad was trying to determine whether the Blackfeet were coming on, following his trail, or whether they had left the trail and were trying to cut him off at some narrow pass. They were more familiar with this part of the country than he was, and he knew in that they possessed a decided advantage. After a time of quiet, the Blackfeet had once more become troublesome, under Crazy Snake, whose hatred of the whites had flared forth with sudden fury. Nomad had, for two days, returned to the old life he loved best of all--trapping by the headwaters of the mountain streams, leading a carefree existence in the open and under the blue sky. Then, on the last day--the day on which he was to arrive at the fort--trouble and peril had descended on him when he had least expected it. His traps were stolen or destroyed, his little hut was broken open and robbed, and then Paul Davis, his old-time border partner, who had encountered him in the neighborhood of the outlaws’ stronghold, was slain, while returning one afternoon to the hut from a hunt. Nomad found Davis’ body in the trail that led down from the higher mountains, and on Davis’ breast a bloody arrow, slashed there with a scalping knife. The scalp had been torn from Davis’ head, thus proving that the work had been done by Blackfeet, while the bloody arrow showed that this was another “vengeance” blow struck by the chief, Crazy Snake. Old Nomad was not fool enough to linger there longer. He buried the body of his old friend, protecting it from wolves by a heap of stones placed on the grave. Then he cached his pelts, picked his few belongings, mounted old Nebuchadnezzar, and set his face toward Fort Thompson. But he was not to escape so easily. He had not gone far when he discovered that Blackfeet were dogging his trail, for the apparent purpose of surprising him in camp, or while he slept. He was sure these Blackfeet were led by Crazy Snake, who had marked him for another victim. As Nomad sat staring along the backward way, a herd of elk came in sight, swinging down the trail he had been following. He instantly guided Nebuchadnezzar out of the trail, and let the elk go plunging by, for they seemed to be frightened, and were running at high speed. “Good enough!” the old man grunted. “I think I kin puzzle them red devils a bit now.”