“You came here for that!” she cried, with dilating eyes, “Who and what are you, then?” “Rafe Norris, at your service! Curly-headed Ned, so called at the forts upon Hudson Bay; and Edward Forrester within the realms of civilization. But come—have you rested enough?” She rose at once and followed him, but the name which he had given last troubled her. “Curly-headed Ned” she knew by report, as a chief over one section of the Modoc Sioux, and a man whose name was stained by a hundred crimes. But, why did he lay claim to the name of Forrester? “I see that you are puzzled,” he said, with a smile. “I am afraid that you doubt that the name of Forrester is really mine. Is it not so?” “I can not see why you claim it.” “Because it is my right name. I have the honor to be your cousin, my dear girl, and this will in some sort account for the affection which I bear you.” “You claim kindred with me, and yet seek to wrong me in the basest manner. There—I believe that it is all false, and— Where are you taking me? I have been in this pass before.” He smiled in a superior sort of way, and turning a sharp angle, stepped suddenly into the path down which she had forced Velveteens on the day when she made him prisoner. Her captor was taking her to her former home! A great fear came into her heart, for she knew that he would not dare to bring her to the cabin of Old Pegs unless that brave man had ceased to breathe. CHAPTER XIII. A DREADFUL ORDEAL—FINIS. Boston Jake and his men did not resist very long after the departure of Rafe Norris. They stood out long enough to give a good excuse for yielding, and then sent out a flag to sue for peace. The Sioux would not trust to that, but took to the mountain at once, and sought to find their way back to their own country in small parties. Boston Jake surrendered his party in person, and Dave received his submission. “Where is the man who was captured while carrying a flag?” he demanded. “You know well whom I mean.” “Yes—I know that well enough, boss, but he’s pegged out. ’Tain’t my fault, you know.” “Who, then, is to blame?” “Jim Diggs shot him on the jump, trying to escape. It were rough, but Jim couldn’t help it.” “I shall hang three of your men for the murder,” replied Dave, quietly, “and they will be selected by lot.” “That ain’t according to Hoyle, boss,” said Boston Jake. “I kain’t see that play of yours, after we guv up.” “_He_ was taken with a white flag in his hand.” “It were cussid mean, I know,” replied Jake; “but it ain’t right to do evil acause some one else did, eh?” “Enough; where is Rafe Norris, better known as Curly-headed Ned?” “Curly? Why, he went away, two hours ago. He don’t hanker arter you chaps, you understand; they don’t suit him, nohow.” “The scoundrel! It will go hard with him when we once lay hands on him. Where is the daughter of Old Pegs? Tell me quickly before I put a bullet through your head.”