Joe had confided all to the officer leading the troops, and had gained his consent to a daring move. He had not forgotten his promise to Lottie; he would save her if possible. But would he be in time? The bold spy shuddered as this fear assailed his heart. Though knowing her for so brief a time, he had given his entire heart to the pale-faced maiden. And the love of such a man, rude and unlettered though he was, was not to be despised. With this view, Joe glided on in advance, while the soldiers dismounted and stood their horses at a safe distance, then removed all articles that, by jingling, could possibly alarm the foe too soon. Dressed as he had been when first appearing at the village, Burleson entered without fear, knowing that Crazy Joe was a privileged person. But the village was quiet. The outlaws seemed all asleep. Not all--from the hillside, shining through the tiny windows that he knew looked out from the grotto, Joe caught the faint ray of a light. And more! A half-stifled scream came from that direction. His teeth grated together, his eyes flashed with a deadly glow as he glided into the little hut that sheltered the entrance. He recognized the voice of Lottie Mitchell! He paused at the entrance of the grotto. All was still. But a sight met his eyes that fairly maddened him. Near the center of the room a man was bending over the form of a woman; the latter seemed insensible. The man was Yellow Jack. The woman was Lottie Mitchell. Thank God! he was yet in time! Such was the thought that flashed across his mind like intuition. Why, he could not have explained himself. He did not speak--made no sound. But he bounded forward like a panther that thirsted for blood. One hand clutched the neck of Yellow Jack. The other, uplifted, clutched a long-bladed knife. The weapon descended with a dull, thrilling _thud_. The steel guard dented deep into the outlaw's back. The blood-stained point protruded through the gayly embroidered shirt-front. Without a groan, Yellow Jack sunk forward upon the insensible form of his intended victim, a dead man. The blade had cloven his heart in twain. Tenderly Burleson lifted the maiden from the floor and bore her to the soft couch of skins beyond. Her eyes opened, and a murmur of thanksgiving told that she recognized him as a true friend. In hurried words he told her all, and cautioned her to remain silent. Then, with a lingering glance at her, he turned and glided away to give the signal of death. Silently, like the shadows of death, the soldiers glided up and gained foothold in the outlaws' village. And then--but why give details? Surely enough bloodshed has already stained these pages. That the surprise was complete--that, as the roaring flames of their blazing huts roused the slumbering outlaws, the wild yell of assault was given, is enough.