A great rock hurled from the hand of Whirlwind, struck Jim Diggs on the head and brought him to the earth with a hollow groan, while a wild triumphant yell pealed up from the throat of Whirlwind as he noted the result of the throw. The last and most unscrupulous of the lieutenants of Rafe Norris had gone to his last home. Rafe shook his clenched hand at the Indians on the cliff, and ordered his men to fall back to the mouth of the pass which opened into the Spirit Spring Valley, resolved to hold it to the last. The Modoc Sioux, greatly thinned by the battles of the last two weeks, sullenly took their stations behind the bowlders, ready to die in their tracks if need be. The whites looked over their cartridges, saw to it that every weapon was in order, and stood ready to obey the commands of their chief. “I’d like to revenge myself on them, boys,” hissed Rafe Norris. “If it did not look like deserting you, I have a way yet if it would suit you.” “Let’s hear it, Cap,” said Boston Jake. “We’ll do any thing for you.” “I don’t doubt it, Jake. Come with me and I’ll tell you my plan.” The two stood in close conference for a moment and then Jake passed to and fro among the men, telling them what the captain meant to do and they agreed to it at once. Then leaving them to keep off the forces of Dave Farrell as long as possible, Norris stepped hastily to the side of Myrtle. “Come, my darling,” he said, mockingly. “It is time that we were on the way.” “I am not going anywhere with you,” was the answer. “Really, you do yourself wrong by such conduct as this. You _are_ going somewhere with me and at once.” “I will not.” “I have no time to waste. Will you go with me quietly or shall I call some of the Indians to carry you? They are not very courteous knights, and perhaps—” “I will go with you,” she said, quickly, “but woe to you if you cherish any evil thought against me, for with the first weapon I can reach I will kill you.” He made no answer but took her hand and led her at a rapid pace up the little valley until he reached the south end. Two Indians bearing a number of new lariats accompanied them and they stopped at the base of the almost perpendicular cliff and began to climb like cats until they reached a ledge fifty feet above the bottom of the canon. Then they sent down the ends of a doubled lariat which was formed into a sort of chair at the bottom, and at a sign from Rafe, Myrtle took her place in it and was raised to the ledge above. The rope was lowered again and Rafe came up, hand over hand, and reached the ledge panting for breath. The Indians slid down the lariats, which Rafe flung down to them and the two departed, leaving Rafe and Myrtle standing on the ledge. “It will trouble your good friends to follow us here,” said Rafe, laughing. “Capital scouts they may be but I doubt if they could track us up this cliff.” “You will find it hard to deceive my father,” she replied, “if he once takes your trail.”