The line became motionless, holding the cow-puncher firmly on the ledge, while his hands gripped Tubby's wrists. "Now," breathed Blinky to himself, bracing every muscle till they seemed to crack. The sweat rolled down his face, and his features became contorted. Tubby was a heavier load than he had bargained for. But pluck and grit won out, and after a few seconds of this Titanic struggle the stout boy stood safe on the ledge beside his rescuer. "Got him!" muttered Blinky triumphantly. But even as he spoke he almost lost the rescued boy. All at once Tubby became as limp as a half-emptied sack of grain, and seemed about to slide backward out of the cow-puncher's arms. "Hey, hold on, there! What's the matter?" roared Blinky in amazement, dragging him back. "Gone out, by the great horn spoon!" he exclaimed, as the rescued boy sank heavily in a dead swoon on the ledge beside his rescuer. CHAPTER XIII. A FRIEND IN NEED. "Hum!" said Rob to himself, with an accent of deep conviction. "Evidently these chaps keep a closer watch on their prisoner than I had imagined. I guess I'd better retire to my boudoir again." The Indian sentinel lowered his rifle as the boy turned, and eyed him stoically without any more expression on his stolid features than would have shown on the features of a mask. "All right," Rob said to him, nodding cheerfully. "Don't worry about me, old chap. I'm going to bed." If the Indian understood, he made no sign. Instead, he wheeled and solemnly followed the boy back to the tepee. Rob entered it and lay down. Presently, to his delight, some blankets were thrown in to him. "Well, if I can't eat I can sleep, anyhow," he said philosophically, and in a few minutes he was curled up in the coverings and off as soundly as if he was slumbering in a cot at the ranch house. It was dawn when Rob awoke, as he speedily became aware when the tent flap was thrown open, and he saw facing him a rather pretty young Indian girl who bore in her hand an earthenware dish. "Hullo!" said Rob, sitting up in his blankets. "Hullo," rejoined the girl in a more friendly tone than Rob had yet heard in the Indian camp. "Who are you?" "My name Susyjan," was the response, as the girl set down the steaming dish, in which, as a concession to Rob, an earthenware spoon had been placed. "All right, Susyjan," smiled Rob. "If you don't mind, I'm going to eat." "All right, you go ahead," acquiesced Susyjan, who, as Rob guessed, had been named after some white Susy Jane. "You talk pretty good English, Susyjan," remarked Rob, between mouthfuls of the contents of the dish, which had some sort of stew in it. "Um! Me with Wild West show one time." "Is that so?" asked Rob, interested. "So you've been East?" "Um! New York, Chicago, Bosstown, every place." "Maybe I've seen you in the show some place?" "Maybe." "What did you like best in the East, Susyjan?" asked Rob, after a brief silence. "Beads," rejoined Susyjan, without an instant's hesitation.