WHEN Mayhew made that dire announcement it sent a foreboding of coming trouble straight to the hearts of his young companions. If the wily red men had succeeded in surrounding them, so that there was no chance of escape, they might as well give up all hope of saving themselves from capture. Poor Roger, who had so recently been brimming over with confidence concerning the ultimate success of their expedition to the camp of the Frenchmen, now found himself sinking once more into a pit of despair. "What had we better do, Mayhew?" asked Dick, grimly. "That is for you to decide," replied the scout. "Each one will have to follow his own bent. As for myself, I know well that capture would mean death at the stake for me. So I shall fight to the last gasp, and, if the chance comes, try to make my escape as I did before. A man can die but once, and better in battle than by fire." Dick hardly knew what to say or do. He had a charge in his gun, it is true, and with ordinary luck that might account for a single Indian; but would it be the part of wisdom to enrage the savages by this rash act? He turned to the right and to the left. Yes, even as Mayhew had said, there were enemies concealed everywhere, for he could see feathered heads rising from behind various sheltering bushes. Flight seemed impossible, and, while the thought of surrender chilled his blood, it began to look as though there might be no other course. Then all at once Roger heard his cousin give a low cry. It was not alarm that rang in that utterance, but rather sudden surprise, even hope. Roger could not guess what it meant, but turning toward his comrade, he seized hold of his arm and stared in the other's face. To his amazement Roger saw what looked like an expanding smile beginning to appear there. He feared Dick must be going out of his mind when he could show signs of pleasure upon facing such a terrible condition as that by which they were now confronted. "Mayhew, look again!" cried Dick. "Pay closer attention to the feathers in their scalp-locks! Tell me if they are not different from the feathers the Blackfeet wear!" It was the frontiersman now who uttered a cry. "Yes, yes, you are right, boy! These are not Blackfoot braves!" "They are Sioux warriors, and, it may be, fresh from the village of our friend, the chief, Running Elk!" said Dick. Roger found his voice at hearing that glorious news. "Try them, Dick!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "Give them the sign the chief taught us! Let them know we are friends, and not enemies! Yes, I can tell the feathers are those of our friends, the Sioux. It is going to be all right after all!" Dick meanwhile took out a piece of white linen he had with him and started to wave it. At the same time he made certain gesticulations with his other hand that would have a meaning in the eyes of Sioux braves, if, as they hoped, these hidden red men proved to be such.