"For many days he kept silence, never once speaking to any one, growing weaker and weaker every day from his injuries. Finally he was taken with an awful fever, and every man in the party knew that nothing could possibly save him. Dad nursed him and cared for him as patiently as if he had been one of their own party. When the Indian learned that he was to be treated kindly for the present, at least, he called for Dad, making feeble signs that he wanted to talk to him secretly. After a long and painful effort he made Dad understand who was with the band of Indians, and why they had watched the trappers so long and so closely. There was a certain pale face with them who was their leader and who had been a 'heap big robber' on the big river. He had offered a reward for Dad's life to every Indian in the party. He had invented the stampede, and when the men were faint with hunger and watching, they would be back to kill them all. Dad was to be hung in honor of the occasion, to celebrate the day the pirate had made his escape from Dad's father. In a few hours the Indian died. Dad kept his secret to himself, although he was greatly disturbed over it. He was being hunted--hunted by a savage worse than any red man that ever shot a bow or took a scalp. He remembered, now, that many of his comrades of that memorable raid had since mysteriously disappeared. The truth flashed upon him in an instant. Shorty Thunder, the river pirate, was taking his revenge. Slowly but surely he was hounding down every man that had sought his life that day. "In a few days the trapping party was picked up by another hunting party. "What's the matter, Ham? Are you getting sleepy?" called Mr. Allen as he arose to replenish the fire. Ham had sprawled out on the ground and was looking off into the dark woods, all alert. "Sh-h-, you," he whispered as he motioned them not to move. "I saw something move out there in those bushes just now; I'll bet my hat on it." "O sugar," said Phil. "Something moved, did it? What do you suppose it was, an elephant?" Just then Fat raised his finger cautiously. "Quiet, there, a second, you rubes. Use your eyes more instead of your mouths, and you'll see more. Can't you see that light spot right over there?" pointing into the darkness with a very crooked stick he had been fooling with. All sat quietly listening and watching, but to no avail. They could see nothing. "Go on with your story, Mr. Allen," urged Ham. "What's river pirates got to do with the destruction of the Old Road House, that's what I'd like to know." The crowd settled themselves again for the rest of the story. "Well, it's like this, Ham," continued Mr. Allen. "Every great story has a preface, and I've been telling you the preface so far." Ham let out a few long, extra well-developed snores. "Say, Fat, wake me when he gets to the beginning of the first chapter, will you?"