“Because you know that your attack on Surgeon Powell will cause the wildest excitement at the fort. Of course, it will be known that you escaped, and Colonel Dunwoody will have half his force on your track, for Surgeon Powell will be supposed to have been killed, and that will make those who search for him most revengeful.” “That is so, sister.” “I am sorry that this was not an escape without violence, and, as I fear, the death of the driver.” “How could it be without violence or death with the Surgeon Scout along, Ruth, for you know it would have been easier to have mastered a guard of half a dozen men than Powell, unless by a blow when he did not expect it. He is an extraordinary man.” “Yes, he is, and I am glad it is no worse. But now here are some things for you to put on, and you are to come with me to Pocket City. I will ride on ahead and enter my wing of the hotel, and when you hear the whippoorwill cry do you then come directly to my gate in the stockade wall.” “I understand.” “I will have your room ready, and will bring you your food myself, while I am arranging for your departure.” “You are most kind to me, Ruth. But then you always have been.” “I wish to be, and I hope to help you to lead a different life, my brother.” “You alone can do it, Ruth,” was the low response, and then, as though he dreaded trouble yet for himself, he said: “What you say about Powell alarms me, and if it is found out that you are my sister, then your house will be searched, Ruth.” “Let them search it, for they will never find you in the place where I can hide you, Arden.” “All right, I am in your hands, my sister,” and, having slipped on the clothes she had brought him, he followed her on to the edge of Pocket City. For half an hour he waited there in the shadow of the timber, and then came the cry of the night bird, when he walked briskly toward the stockade. The gate was opened, and, unseen by any one, he entered and had reached a haven of refuge. CHAPTER XXV. THE SURGEON SCOUT’S WARNING. Frank Powell’s wounds were painful, though not serious. He had been taken to one of the pleasantest rooms in the Frying Pan, and thither went Bonnie Belle and a Chinese servant, with water, arnica, and bandages. “I have come to dress your wounds, Surgeon Powell, under your direction,” she said, with a smile. “They amount to but little to one who has roughed it as I have, Miss Arden.” “There, you are calling me Miss Arden, when you know that here I am Bonnie Belle.” “I will not mistake again, Bonnie Belle.” “Here, Chin-Chin, get ready to help me,” and, having placed the basin and other things upon the table, she drew back the collar of the surgeon’s shirt and glanced at the wound. “What do you think of it?” she asked. “The bullet passed through, and touched no bones, so it will soon heal,” he said.