"Yes, it isn't anywhere about." Mr. Radbury was more worried about the papers pertaining to the land grant than over anything else, and at once a search was instituted, outside of the ranch home as well as indoors. It proved of no avail,--the papers were gone. "Will it do much harm?" asked Ralph, who knew very little as yet about real estate matters. "It may and it may not," answered the father. "Of course the grant is recorded, but with matters in such a revolutionary state the records may at some time be destroyed, and then somebody else might come forward and claim this grant." "Well, I reckon you won't give it up, partner," put in Poke Stover, suggestively. "Not without a fight, Stover," was Mr. Radbury's firm answer. "The land is mine, paid for, and I'll hold it, papers or no papers, and no matter how the affairs of the government turn." "I wonder who was the thief," mused Dan. "I don't believe it was an Indian. He might take the other things, but he wouldn't know anything about the papers, nor care for them." "He might be cute enough to take the papers just to throw us off the scent," suggested Ralph. "You're wrong, Ralph, for he wouldn't know one paper from another." "But he'd know the land papers were important, because of the seals on them," persisted the youngest Radbury. The Indian in the corner now demanded their attention. He was plainly in a bad way, and Poke Stover said it was very doubtful if he would live. "If he does pull through it will only be because he's a redskin and as tough as all creation," added the old frontiersman. In his guttural tongue the redskin appealed to Dan for a drink of water. "Certainly, I'll give you a drink," answered the boy, kindly, and went out to get some water that was cool. After the Indian had had his fill, Dan used the remainder of the water in washing his wounds and then bound them up. After this he got out an old blanket, and he and Ralph placed the wounded fellow on this. Before, the red man's face had had a scowl on it, but now it became more friendly. "White boys heap good," he grunted. "Big Foot no forget dem," and he nodded his head suggestively. He had been shot in the leg, and was suffering from loss of blood. "Tell me who robbed the cabin," said Dan, for he felt that Big Foot had had nothing to do with it. The Indian knit his brow in speculation. "White boy ask Big Foot hard question," he said, presently. "But you must know." "Big Foot t'ink know, not sure. Big Foot crawl in here out of hot sun. He half dead. Udder man come, rob place while Big Foot half dead." "Well, who do you imagine the other man was? It couldn't have been one of your tribe." "I t'ink him half my tribe. I t'ink him 'Merican-Indian, um Hank Stiger." "Hank Stiger!" cried Dan. "Father, did you hear that?" "What is it, Dan?" "This Indian was half in a faint when the cabin was robbed, but he thinks the thief was Hank Stiger."