“That’s true, boy; but unless he comes afore night it’ll be too late, or I’m no judge.” “What do you mean, Tumult?” “This: if the ranger comes here arter dark, it will be with a troop o’ Arapahoes at his heels, to capture us.” “I can not understand your reason for thinking so.” “I’ll tell ye, lad, thar’s some devilish plot coming to a crisis, and Dick Sherwood and Rollo are at the bottom of it all.” “Well, where’s your proof?” “That fust attempt to kidnap Miss Bryant; the meetin’ affair at Wildwood lake; the kapter of the two gals; the affair at Two Islands, and the ferry-boat surprise, are all the proof that I want,” said Old Tumult; “and, furthermore, our carcasses is mixed up in it some way ’r other; and now mind, unless we look sharp, that ’ere boy ’ll play the deuce with us to-night.” “You really surprise me, Tumult.” “And I could surprise ye more if I’d tell o’ the diskivery that I’ve made.” “Why not tell it?” The scout was silent. Town. repeated the question. “You’d feel more like shootin’ me than thankin’ me fur the infurmation,” returned Old Tumult. Town. laughed, though his mind was perplexed. “Howsumever,” continued the old scout, “I might as well tell it, fur you’re bound to know it sooner or later. The fact is, this mornin’ I diskivered that Rollo, the ranger, and--” Here he broke abruptly off, for a shadow fell across his vision. He seized his rifle and sprung to his feet, and found himself confronted by a tall, powerful Sioux Indian, whom he at once recognized as Mahaska, chief of the Sioux tribe! Tumult at once placed himself in an attitude of defense, but a sign from the chief put at rest all fears of an encounter. He showed that his presence there was fraught with peace and friendship, although Old Tumult had always known him as an enemy. Our friends recognized the chief’s token of friendship by dropping their rifles and folding their arms over their breasts. “Good!” ejaculated the chief; “the great Tumult and his friend know that Mahaska comes with friendship in his breast.” “You bet, chief,” returned the scout, extending his large, bony hand; “it’s hard to mistake that jolly twinkle in yer eye--it means, no skulps wanted.” “The great Tumult is wise. His tongue is straight. His arm is strong. His eyes are keen. His aim is deadly, but Mahaska knows he will not strike a friend.” “You’re right there, great chief,” returned the scout, determined to pay an equal amount of compliments; “I know yer a brave chief, a splendid feller, a brillunt scholar, a good jedge of whisky, and a brick o’ a boy in general.” The chief reared himself proudly. Although he did not fully understand the English of the scout’s complimentary remarks, he took it all as something very fine.