“His scouts have been in the heart of the Arapaho village. They saw the ranger there, and heard him talking with the white prophet. When the Boy Ranger comes here to meet the great Tumult and his friend, when the sun goes down, let them beware, for he will bring many warriors with him whose hearts burn for their blood.” His own ideas of Rollo’s treachery at once convinced Tumult that there was more truth than fiction in the chief’s warning. “We’ll be on the watch for the young rascal,” said the scout, “when he comes to-night.” “Can the great scout be on the watch for the many warriors that will follow him like shadows?” “Not if more’n six comes at a time,” replied Tumult. “Then Mahaska and his warriors will hide in the forest, and if the Arapahoes come with the ranger, the Sioux will slay them, for many of my young warriors have promised to go back to their village with Arapaho scalps.” The old scout saw at once what the chief was driving at, and he could do no better than to accept his proffered aid, or protection against the treachery of Rollo. The Sioux seemed highly elated by his acceptance of their proffered friendship, and as night drew on, they began to secrete themselves in the woods surrounding the point of rendezvous. Old Tumult and Town., for the first time, had the opportunity of seeing a party of savages ambushing themselves for an unsuspecting enemy. Half crouching, they glided here and there like so many shadows, their eyes flashing with an evil, cunning light. They burrowed themselves beneath the old leaves and grass like moles; they pressed themselves into holes and crevices where it seemed a serpent could not hide. In five minutes’ time, Old Tumult and Town. stood alone in the solitude of the great forest. It seemed almost impossible that they stood within a circle of three score blood-thirsty savages. Night came on apace. There was a moon, but it would not be up till two hours after dark. Our friends seated themselves in the path leading to the head of the Devil’s Staircase. They started when the sound of horse’s hoofs told them that some one was approaching from the east. It was the ranger beyond a doubt. Suddenly the tramp of the hoofs ceased, and a voice called out: “Hallo, Tumult!” “Ay, Rollo; so you’ve come,” responded the old scout. They arose from their seat and approached the ranger, of whom they could catch a faint outline in the darkness. The clear, frank voice of the ranger at once produced in the minds of the friends conflicting ideas. It seemed utterly impossible for one so young, and apparently kind-hearted, to be a traitor to his own race. He had done many kind acts for the settlers in warning them of coming danger of late. Yet, despite all this, Tumult and Town. had seen sufficient of his actions in the ferry-boat affair to raise grave doubts, at least; however, they tried to believe that it all came of the impulse and indiscretion of youth.