When the chambers were empty, only four men stood erect, and they looked as if they wished themselves anywhere but in their present situation. Nothing daunted by the force of numbers, Bolly sprang towards them, holding his empty rifle in one hand and the long knife in the other. Some stern duty appeared to call these four brave fellows in as many different directions, just then; at any rate they did not wait for the arrival of White Thunder, but dashed wildly away, forgetful alike of their wounded dignity, and their late dignified wounds. A shout from the old hunter caused them to expedite matters, and Bolly laughed at the ludicrous figures they cut. A shrill neigh close by caused him to start. It was a well-remembered sound, and the hunter quickly turned his face in the direction from whence it came. A horse, saddled and bridled, was fastened to a stake driven into the ground in front of a tent, and Bolly saw that it was his own lost steed. The animal had recognized its master, and had given token of its love for him. With a few bounds Bolly was at the side of Black Bess. As his hand fell caressingly upon the noble mare's mane, the skin serving as a door to the lodge was swept suddenly aside, and the next instant Bolly found himself face to face with Blue Horse, a noted chief, and an old enemy of his. What this individual was doing in his lodge while his comrades fought and bled will, perhaps, never be known, and does not really affect the course of my narrative. All that I wish to be positive about is the fact that he was there, and that for almost fully sixty seconds the foes glared at each other. "Ugh! White Thunder! Blue Horse no forget ears," grunted the chief, as he put his hand to his belt and drew a revolver. "Remember that ole scrimmage, eh, chief? Wal, I reckon I cud give ye another leetle reminder o' this happy occasion, seein' that yer is so partic'lar 'bout it," and the ranger laughed in the Indian's face. Blue Horse angrily raised his weapon, but considerately refrained from firing. The reason of this clemency on his part was obvious. Bolly held his empty revolver in his hand, and this had been thrown with tremendous force against the chief's head, which, not being made of iron, gave way, and the Sioux nation had to mourn the loss of another leader. Bolly secured the revolver of Blue Horse, and was thinking of searching the village from one end to the other in order to accomplish the strange mission that had brought him to this part of the country, when a chorus of angry yells attracted his attention. Upon investigation these were found to proceed from a score of mounted red men who were dashing along towards him, having evidently been attracted by the cries of the four wounded warriors, who had fled after their little private amusement.