Like a flash he was up on his hands and knees. Snatching his rifle from the ground he hastily crawled out of the tent; leaving Billie asking a dozen excited questions, as he too felt for his rifle, and started to follow in the wake of the more energetic chum. When Adrian managed to gain his feet, he looked quickly around him, wondering how he could locate Donald; and if that had been the other’s gun he heard. “This way, Ad!” called a voice just then, and he caught sight of the other waving an arm toward him from a place near by. So Adrian started toward that quarter; and Billie, coming rolling out from the exit of the tent just then, saw him going, so of course he hastened to “paddle” along after him—that was an expression often used to describe the fat boy’s method of locomotion; and somehow it just seemed to hit the mark; since he had a peculiar sidling motion when making an advance, that reminded one of the fins of a big fish moving back and forth. “What happened, Donald?” asked the other, as he came close up to his chum, whom he found crouched there, gun in hand, and evidently keenly on the watch for some object at which to fire. “They were at it again, that’s what!” replied the vidette, bitterly; and somehow Adrian could see that he looked peeved, as well as puzzled; as though there were certain features connected with the happening that did not altogether please him. “The reds, you mean?” Adrian went on to ask. “Sure thing, Ad.” “That looks like they meant to have our horses by fair means or foul; and I just reckon we’ll have to sit up the rest of the night, so’s to be ready to pick off the first brave who shows himself,” Adrian ventured. Billie managed to reach them just then, and of course he was brimming over with a desire to know all that had happened. But then any one would have felt that way, after being so rudely awakened from a most enjoyable sleep, and compelled to crawl out from under his warm blanket, to experience the chill of the night air. “Is he dead?” he asked, solemnly. “Meaning the Injun that gave that screech, I suppose you’re asking about, Billie?” Donald went on to say, still gloomily, Adrian thought. “Well make your mind easy, for he got away, all right; though he certainly did let out a yelp that told he’d been pinked by that lead pellet.” “You are sure of that, are you, Donald?” demanded Billie, giving an audible sigh of relief; for he had fully expected that he would be compelled to look upon the stiffening figure of a wretched Apache young brave who had been tempted to stray from the reservation, and try what it felt like to pick up the old pursuits of Geronimo, the fierce chief who gave the soldiers so much trouble years back.