A careful search revealed the fact that five of his men had been killed and twice that number wounded. Of the assailants twelve were killed and five mortally wounded left upon the ground. The burial service was brief, each rough man bidding good-by to his friend in his rough way as they were laid beneath the sod, friend and foe together in a trench which was hastily thrown up by the men, who knew their duty well. “Whirlwind has caught his Tartar, I reckon,” said Dave, as the sound of rifles came up on the wind. “What a dressing those fellows will give the Blackfeet!” The firing receded, growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and they began to think that the Blackfeet were driving the enemy before them. “Dave,” said Old Pegs, “I’ve bin thinking ’bout my gal and made up my mind. I’d hate to lose her but I won’t keep her here no more and she’s got ter go to the fort.” “I am glad to hear you say so,” replied Dave, eagerly. “What made you come to that conclusion?” Old Pegs related the adventure with Velveteens and Anatole. “And you see, boy, this yer mout happen any day. Now give me ten men and I’ll go up to-morrow and git her and we’ll send her home with the brigade.” The plan suited Dave well, and early next morning the old hunter with ten men rode up to his cabin home, searching every pass before they entered it. The ride was a long one and it was ten o’clock when Old Pegs dismounted at his door and went in. The room was empty, but that did not seem to trouble him, for, after calling Myrtle’s name once or twice, he pushed aside the curtains of the recess in which she slept and went in. A sort of clicking sound was heard directly after, and he was not seen for ten minutes, when the noise was again repeated and he sprung out into the empty room with a wild look on his face. “She’s gone!” he screamed. “Who hez robbed me of my child?” “Hyar’s a bit of paper, old man,” said one of the trappers. “We found it on a split stick near the door.” Old Pegs cast it from him with a roar of anger. “D’ye think I kin read now? Whar’s Myrtle; thet’s what I want ter know.” “I can read,” said one of the scouts, picking up the paper. “Shall I, old man?” Old Pegs nodded with a savage look on his face, and the young man read the paper. “This is to certify, that having come to the conclusion that the man known as Old Pegs is not lawfully the guardian of his lovely daughter—so called—therefore I, Rafe Norris, assume the guardianship, with the intention of making her my wife. Rafe Norris.” The old man took up the letter and looked at it grimly. “I’ll wad it round a bullet, one day,” he muttered. “God help him, when we meet ag’in. He’ll git this paper back.” CHAPTER IX. UNBIDDEN GUESTS.