Looking at his profile as he rode along over the prairie at a sweeping gallop, it would have been seen that his nose was large, thin and sharp, the chin rather prominent, and the lips thin. The mouth was rather large, and the upper lip shaded by a thin, silky mustache of the same jetty hue as his eyes. The rest of his face was totally devoid of beard, except a little furze in front of his ears. He had never used the razor, nor did he expect to do so. Of course he sat his horse like a centaur, and, as he rode along, those keen, restless eyes of his wandered and roved from side to side, almost unconsciously on his part, as he was ever on the alert for the first appearance of danger. Such in brief were a few of the noticeable points of the great scout, Lightning Jo, who was a leader of the party of rescue, and who is to play such a prominent part in the thrilling events we are about to narrate. As he rode beside Gibbons, whose anxiety was of the most intense character, and who could not avoid giving frequent expression to it, the scout at length said: “Just stop that ’ere fretting of yours, now, Gib; ’cause it don’t pay; don’t you see we’re all stretching out on that ’ere forty miles, just as fast as horse-flesh kin stand it? Wal, that being so, where’s the use of fuming?” “I know, Jo, but how can a person help it when he knows not whether his friends are dead or alive? There is philosophy in your advice about whining and complaining, and it reminds me of one of the members of the party--a young lady, whose disposition had something heavenly in it.” “Who was she?” asked the scout, in an indifferent way. “Her name, I believe, was Manning--Lizzie Manning--” “What!” exclaimed Lightning Jo, almost bounding from his saddle, “is _she_ there, in that infarnal place? How in the name of Heaven did she get there?” “She was one of the party that left St. Louis, and of course shared our dangers the same as all.” “The sweetest, purtiest, best little piece of calico that has been heard,” repeated the scout to himself. “God save _her_, for she’s worth all the rest. Come, boys,” he called out to those behind him, “ride your hosses as you never rid ’em afore. I’d dash through fire, water, smoke, brimstone and blazes, to save _that_ gal!” CHAPTER IV. THE PARTY IN DEAD MAN’S GULCH. Leaving Lightning Jo and his party riding at a tremendous rate over the prairie to the rescue of the sorely beleaguered company in Dead Man’s Gulch, we must precede him for awhile to that terrible spot, where one of the most dreadful tragedies of the many there enacted was going on.