"Mother!" exclaimed Tommy, "I know what you would say. You wish me to go and find Alice." "Oh! yes, if it is not asking too much." "I will set off at once." CHAPTER XXII. THE FINAL TRAGEDY. Seeing that his pistol was loaded, Tommy started at once after Alice, who actually had started for the distant city to warn Smithers of the danger in which he stood. Skirting the huge masses of rock which lay about on all sides of the valley, Tommy succeeded in quitting the Dead Snake Canyon without attracting the notice of his father. Once out on the undulating prairie, he slipped out more boldly, and walked rapidly along the track which served as a road. Some distance ahead of him he fancied he saw a slender form which might be that of Alice. He quickened his movements. In a short time he was able to satisfy himself that it actually was the little girl proceeding on her chivalrous journey without exhibiting any apparent symptoms of fatigue. All at once he beheld a tall form spring from the high grass among which it had been concealed. The long hair, ornamented with feathers, the red skin, and the dirty blanket in which the form was wrapped, assured him that the apparition was that of an Indian. Though comparatively rare in that part of the country, bands occasionally crossed the prairie and did not hesitate to rob, burn and murder where they had the opportunity. In the hand of the Indian was an uplifted tomahawk. Horribly afraid of some tragedy, Tommy increased his pace to a run, hoping to come up in time to prevent the dastardly redskin from doing any harm to the little girl. But he was too late. The Indian uttered a terrible whoop and, in pure wantonness, made a slashing blow at Alice. The child, frightened at the war cry, turned, and beholding the savage, sank upon her knees, holding up her hands in supplication. What she said Tommy could not hear, but even at the distance he was from her he fancied he saw her lips move. Possibly she begged for mercy, possibly she prayed for help. The cruel tomahawk, however, cut short her prayers, or her supplications, and sank deep into her brain, causing her to die without another word. A fiendish laugh came from the Indian. His knife was instantly in requisition, and with a dexterity born of practice, he cut off her beautiful, flowing hair. He had murdered the poor child for her scalp. Burning with rage and indignation, Tommy bounded over the ground, and when he got near enough he sank on one knee. Raising his pistol he fired. The Indian was hit, but not mortally. He uttered a howl like that of a wild beast, and looked for his enemy, who was not so much hidden in the sage bark and chaparral as to be invisible. But before he could load his rifle another shot from Tommy brought him to his knee, and a third rolled him over like a bullock.