“If there is, we will give them a chunk or two of cold lead,” said Town., fixing his eyes upon the raft. “Ah--they’re too sharp fur that, lad. They’re layin’ ahind the logs--mebbe half buried in the water--and jist as soon as they git close enough, we’ll hear, if we don’t feel, cold lead rattlin’ ’round us. Things begin to look scaly, boy, fur us, or I’m no judge.” The two men felt no little uneasiness for the next ten minutes as to the real character of the raft. If there were Indians about it, as Old Tumult had no doubt but there were, they were so hidden among the logs and bushes as to defy all efforts of discovery, while at the same time the whites would be exposed to the rifles of the hidden enemy. They could do nothing but watch and wait, while the raft continued to drift slowly toward them. It was about a hundred yards away when Old Tumult was sure he saw the head of a savage peering over a log, and, to convince himself as to whether such really was the case, he raised his rifle and fired at the object. But, the scout never knew whether or not it was an Indian’s head, nor what had been the effect of his shot, for, simultaneous with the report of the rifle, the raft dropped into a strong, surging eddy--swung swiftly around a number of times, and then, as if a magazine had exploded in its midst, it flew apart--every log became separated from each other by the circling force of the water; and there, in the midst of the whirling, rolling logs and debris, were a half a dozen Indians, struggling desperately with the waves. Old Tumult burst into a roar of laughter when he discovered this providential misfortune to the savages. As the scout had mistrusted, the red-skins had secreted themselves among the logs and debris; and, but for the parting of the raft in the eddy, and the sudden precipitation of the cunning foe into the seething waters, it is very probable that our friends would have been shot down in another moment. As fast as Old Tumult could load and fire upon the struggling, panic-stricken enemy, he did so with telling effect. And those of the savages that escaped his deadly aim, were overpowered by the waves and swept away. Again our friends had nothing, for the moment, to fear from the Arapahoes. A silence ensued. Town. was thinking of Madge and Clara, while Old Tumult was silently wondering what course the enemy would next resort to, to dislodge them from their retreat. Suddenly they were startled by the sharp twang of a horn. The sound came from the eastern shore. They glanced in that direction and discovered a horseman moving along the shore toward the north. They recognized him at the first glance. It was Rollo, the Boy Ranger. Old Tumult placed his hat upon the muzzle of his gun and waved it above his head, shouting at the top of his lungs. The young ranger drew rein and answered the scout’s shout by a blast from his horn and a waving of his scarlet cap.