“I ’spose not. An Injun can’t climb ez well ez the next man, I ’spose. Now did ye ever hear tell ov Old Pegs?” The young man started and looked at him keenly. “Old Pegs the guide—Old Pegs the hunter, Old Pegs the Indian terror? I should think so.” “Them’s my handles, stranger; I’m Old Pegs.” “I beg your pardon for saying what I did then, for I have no desire to quarrel with a man of your reputation. Perhaps it is for the best that Whirlwind should escape at this time, but my hour will come, and when it does—let him beware of me.” “All hunky; rub him out the fust chaince you git. Now what’s _your_ handle, young man?” “People who know me well, call me Rafe Norris.” “I don’t keer what people _call_ you. Is Rafe Norris yer handle?” “Yes.” “What’s yer biz?” “I can’t tell you that just now, my good friend. I—” He did not finish the sentence, for Old Pegs caught him by the shoulders and flung him heavily to the ground, falling beside him from the impetus of his own exertions. The hand of the old guide was outstretched, and catching up a heavy stone he flung it with deadly aim at the feathered head of an Indian which at this moment rose above the ledge and who was poising a lance for a throw. Straight between the eyes the heavy stone struck, and, spreading his arms abroad, the Indian plunged head-foremost into the depths below, where his skull was shattered out of the semblance of humanity upon the rocks. So quickly was it done that Rafe Norris had no idea why he had been so rudely assailed, and seizing upon Old Pegs, began to pommel him about the head and shoulders. “See yer, my boy,” said Old Pegs, “ef you hit me _and I find it out_, I’ll be darned ef I don’t send fer ye once, jest fer fun—now you hear me. Confound each individual wolverine in these tempestuous wilds ef I knows what’s the matter with you.” “What did you pitch into me for?” hissed Rafe, in an angry tone. “Come hyar, you fool, ef I must say it,” replied Old Pegs. “Creep to the edge of the cliff and look over.” Considerably awed by the manner of the hunter, Rafe crawled to the edge of the cliff, and looking down cautiously saw the dead form of the savage below, while the rattle of hoofs told that some of the Indian’s comrades were coming back to look for him. The unfortunate savage, suspecting something wrong and desirous of distinguishing himself, had come back to search again for Rafe Norris, and hearing voices, had scaled the cliff unheard just in time to meet his fate. “Come along,” whispered Old Pegs. “Show a leg and foller me.” CHAPTER II. OLD PEGS’ TREASURE.