Once more Frank thought that he must be the perfect counterpart of Black Harry, else he would arouse the suspicion of the fellow who owned those eyes. Frank believed it would be an easy thing to mount one of the horses and ride away, as if he was going a short distance. He believed he could do so without being challenged or questioned, and the desire to attempt it was almost ungovernable. Then came another thought. Where could he go? Surely he could not return to Elreno, for, now that he had been carried away by Black Harry's Braves, he was branded in that town as the youthful outlaw beyond the shadow of a doubt. He did not know which way to turn, and the thought that his situation was most remarkable forced itself upon him. If he remained among the outlaws, they were liable to discover how they had been fooled, and that would make them furious. If he escaped and hastened to any of the nearby towns, it was pretty certain that he would be taken for Black Harry and lynched. "This is a real jolly scrape!" thought the boy, ruefully. "What can I do?" Well might he ask himself the question. He walked a short distance down the canyon, and thought it over. The impulse was on him to get away as soon as possible, but his sober judgment told him that he would leap from the frying-pan into the fire. Frank did not care to be lynched. He seemed helpless for the time. Although he longed to fight for his honor, he was unable to strike a blow. The result of his walk was a determination to stay with the outlaws and keep up the deception as long as he could. Black Harry himself must appear sooner or later, and Frank longed to see the young rascal whom he so much resembled. Most boys would have improved the opportunity to get away, but Frank was not built of ordinary material, and it was like him to do the unexpected. He strolled back to the cabin, seeming quite at his ease. It was not far from sunrise, and the men began to stir. Several of them came out of the hut, and a fire was built. Of a sudden, from far up the canyon, came the musical blast of a bugle, causing the outlaws to start and look at each other in surprise. They listened, and it was repeated. One of the men turned sharply on Frank, hoarsely crying: "What does that mean?" "I don't know," replied the boy, at the same time feeling for his revolvers, with the idea that there was trouble on hand. "It is your signal!" burst from the man's lips. "And that means trickery! There is something wrong!" "You're right!" cried several voices. More of the braves came running out of the cabin, there was a hustling for arms, and the men prepared for trouble. "My signal?" repeated Frank, to himself. "By that he must mean it is the signal of Black Harry! He is coming!" Frank felt the blood tingling in his veins. Black Harry was coming! "Now," muttered Frank, "I shall have a chance to strike a blow for myself! Let Black Harry come on!" CHAPTER XI. BLACK HARRY APPEARS.