“Who asked you to speak, Joe Bent?” said Black Will, savagely. “Keep your distance and live in safety for twenty-four hours, but after that I will take your life, no matter where I meet you.” “You rare ’round the awfulest kind, don’t ye,” replied Joe, with a merry look. “Dash my bacon ef you ain’t a study fur a painter. I’ve see’d chaps in the theater at St. Louis that rared ’round the stage jest as you do now, but somehow they allus got special hail kolumbia in the end. Now _git_; I don’t want to say any thing more _but_ git.” Black Will quietly tightened his belt, brought his rifle to a “right shoulder shift,” and was off at a long, slinging pace which carried him rapidly across the field. “Thar goes a pizen critter, Miss Sadie,” muttered Cooney Joe. “Now I reckon he meant jest what he said when he told me that he’d hev my life, but I’ve took a good many chances, though he’ll hev my ha’r sartin ef I don’t shoot first when we meet.” “I am sorry to have brought you into danger, Joe,” said the girl. “Sorry—danger—git out! D’ye think I keer fur _that_, little gal? Why, make it the wust ye kin, the chances ar’ I git a shot afore he does, an’ ef I _miss_, then it’s my own fault. Whar’s yer daddy?” “I came out to find him and bring him some drink. I thought he was at work in this field.” “He orter be keerful,” said Joe Bent, uneasily, “’cause the Injins are gitting r’iled up awful, and thar’s no tellin’ when they may break out. Let’s try an’ find him.” “There he is now,” cried Sadie. As she spoke, a middle-aged man, with a hoe across his shoulder, appeared at the other side of the woods and came rapidly toward them. As he came near he shouted cheerily to Joe Bent, who seemed very glad to see him, and they shook hands heartily. Mr. Wescott had the same air of gentility which showed itself in his daughter, but, like her, had adapted himself to his present surroundings, and looked the picture of a genuine western farmer. In stature he was almost a giant. Sadie rapidly recounted her meeting with Black Will, and all that had passed between them, and the face of Mr. Wescott darkened, while his hand closed convulsively upon the handle of his hoe. “It is a lucky thing for the black-hearted scoundrel that I was not by, Sadie,” he said, “or it would have gone hard with him. What brings you up this way, Joe?” “I sort o’ got a hint to git off the hunting grounds from that pernicious red devil, Napope, who is sp’ilin’ fur mischief. Ar’ ye good friends with the Injins, ’square?” “Certainly; I never wronged one of them in my life.” “Not that it matters much ef they once rise,” continued Joe, “because then they won’t hev any friends in the white race. I’ve my doubts of that Black Will, anyhow. Two weeks ago I saw him in the Injin village, an’ him an’ that cussid Napope was ez thick ez flies in sp’iled bacon.” “What is the trouble with the Indians?” said Wescott, uneasily.