“Hear me out. Give me your promise to go with me, and no harm shall come to him you call your father. I know that it is false—that he is not your father, but that is nothing now. Refuse, and he shall die with the utmost refinement of savage torment.” “You would not do that?” she gasped. “I? Oh no, that is not my business, but you must understand that the Modoc Sioux—my allies—have lost many friends, and they claim a victim. And, in short, I shall consider myself bound to give them one if you are obdurate. What do you say?” “I must see my father.” “Oh, no; I know that the old knave would only strengthen you in your obstinacy, and that would not pay. Without seeing him, you must either accept or refuse.” “You say that the Modoc Sioux demand a victim. Let it be so, then, for I will not see my father perish.” “Do you accept?” he cried, eagerly, for he knew that she would keep a promise once made, if it broke her heart. “You misunderstand me, sir. What I propose is this: let the Sioux have their victim _in me_, and let that brave old man go free.” “You—you!” he stammered. “Saints of mercy, what do you take me for?” “I owe a happy life to Nicholas Fletcher, him you know as Old Pegs. Even in this wild region, he has made me happy for twenty years. Nothing which he could do has been wanting, and I owe him so much that I am ready to give up my life for his sake.” At this moment a rattling volley was heard at the entrance of the valley, followed by wild yells of savage vengeance. The fire was returned, but as Rafe Norris listened breathlessly he knew that his men were falling back. What could it mean? Why had they been so suddenly ousted from their strong position by a force not nearly as large as their own? CHAPTER XII. DROPPING THE MASK. While Dave Farrell was deploying his forces for an attack upon the pass, he heard behind him the rattle of advancing hoofs, and quickly drew his men back into the shelter of the trees, for it might be an enemy. But, to his delight, the first man who rode out of the pass was Whirlwind, the Blackfoot, and behind him a hundred picked men of his nation. They had followed the outlaws after the repulse at the trapper camp, and attacked their rear, but they had taken shelter in one of the passes and had driven the Indians back. But, hearing the sound of the combat, Whirlwind, who was on his way to join his forces with those of Dave Farrell, at once turned back and now came on eager for the fray. The reinforcement was needed, for the trappers were somewhat worn by the battles and skirmishes of the day. Dave rode out to meet the chief and greeted him warmly. “My brother has fought well,” said the warrior, reproachfully; “but, why did he not wait for the Blackfeet, who seek revenge upon the Modoc Sioux and their friends?”