“Remember, sons of the Sioux,” the leader said, “that these men killed Half-breed Jack and Tuscalo. Avenge these brave men who fell for the honor of the tribe. Now!” They took up the log and at the signal word sprung out of the thicket with the butt of the log directed toward the door. All expected to hear the rifles speak the moment they came in view, but to their utter surprise not a shot was fired and the heavy log struck the door with a dull thud. It resisted bravely, but a second blow made the bars crack and the moment after the stout door fell into the room and the course was clear. Foremost among those who poured in over the shattered door was the painted wretch who had said that Old Pegs and Dave had killed the two Sioux the day before. He held a hatchet in one hand and a pistol in the other, and uttered a cry of triumph as they entered, unopposed. But, to his dismay the place was empty! Nearly all the furniture had been removed. Even the books were gone, and those he sought had vanished utterly. Weapons in hand they rushed through the deserted rooms hoping to find the man they hated concealed somewhere, but they looked in vain. There was no door at the back of the house, and even if there had been it would have been next to impossible to climb the rugged rock in the rear of the building. “The white men are great medicine,” said one of the Indians with a shudder. “Where have they gone?” “We came too late,” replied the leader, angrily. “While we loitered on the way they have fled.” “Shall we burn the house?” “No; if you destroy the nest the birds will not return to it. Leave all as it is and some day they will come back and we shall have them.” The Indians loitered for some time about the place, picking up such articles as suited their fancy and appropriating them without remorse. It was nearly an hour after the first assault when they made ready to depart after they had sounded the walls of the house thoroughly, seeking to fathom the mystery of the escape. They gave up in despair, and marched away through the pass, leaving the cabin in peace. They had scarcely been gone ten minutes when Old Pegs stepped over the threshold, rifle in hand and followed on their trail. He was gone nearly half an hour, and when he returned Dave had already repaired the broken door, and replaced the furniture, while Myrtle was setting the table for a meal. “Haw, haw, folks!” roared Old Pegs. “Did you ever see a more ’stonished set of varmints in your born days? It was ez good ez a play.” “They were taken by surprise,” replied Dave, “but if Myrtle had not been with us I could not have resisted the temptation of giving them a shot. Rafe Norris was not with them, after all.” “Durn him, he knowed he’d git a shot on sight and so did that cussid Velveteens. That b’ar he killed was worth a hundred sech copper-toed varmints ez him. It were murder, my boy—jest murder and nothing else.”