It was nearly sunset when he neared the top of a ridge, and wisely dismounted to look cautiously over into the valley beyond before venturing. He took off his hat, gained the shelter of a bush, and peered over. What he saw seemed to surprise him. Not three hundred yards away were two persons on horseback. One was an Indian chief, in war-paint and eagle feathers. The other was a woman, and a pale face. As do many army officers, Kit Carey carried a repeating rifle when on a scout. It hung at his saddle horn, and he quickly sprang to the side of his horse and secured it. He could believe only that the woman was the captive of the redskin. His rifle was of large caliber and long range, and he was noted as the best shot in the army of the frontier. "There must be others near, though I could not discover them; but I can drop him, mount, and dash to her aid, and then run for it with her," he mused to himself, while examining his rifle to see that it was in perfect trim. Then he crept cautiously toward the bush again, peered through, with rifle ready. But Kit Carey did not fire as he had intended, for to his surprise, he beheld the Indian chief riding slowly up the trail toward him, while the one whom he had supposed was his captive was cantering off in the other direction. But the Indian was a chief, and in full war-paint, and that meant trouble, if the two met. He was in a locality where his life was at stake, within the danger line for miles, and a shot might bring hundreds upon him. "This will be better than my rifle, though I would have fired to save her," he muttered, and he took his lasso coil from his saddle. One end he left attached to the saddle horn, and leading his horse close to the steep bank near the bush, stood there behind its shelter with the noose in his hand ready to throw. [Illustration: "Lieut. Carey's lariat whizzed through the air, and settled over the shoulders of the chief." (See page 47)] On came the Sioux chief all unconscious of danger, and, peering fixedly at him, the officer said, with some surprise: "Ah! it is that desperate young chief who tried so hard to rescue Sitting Bull some days ago, for twice he fired full at me, yet my star of luck hovered over me. Now I will have a chance to get even," and he grasped the lariat more firmly. On came the Sioux chief, his black and white spotted pony, all unconscious of danger even. Nearer and nearer approached the Sioux chief, until suddenly Lieutenant Carey arose, and his lariat went whizzing through the air with surest aim, settling over the shoulders of the chief, pinning his arms to his side, and, as his pony bounded away, dragging him from his saddle to the ground. Hardly had the Indian fallen ere Kit Carey was standing over him, his revolver muzzle in his face, while he said sternly in the Sioux tongue: "You are my prisoner, chief! Make no resistance, and I will not harm you."