“You needn’t rare up that ar’ way,” said Boston Jake, sullenly. “I don’t keer two cents what you do with me, and I don’t skeer at all so you mout as well let me down easy. That’s the way I talk it. Curly-headed Ned hez got the gal.” The forces of Whirlwind satisfied that their sworn enemies—the Sioux—were scattered in the mountains, at once set out in pursuit, breaking up into squads of ten or less for that purpose. Woe to the Modoc Sioux whom they ran down. His scalp quickly adorned the belt of some son of the Blackfoot tribe, and hung afterward in the smoke of his lodge. The prisoners were quickly bound, and leaving ten men as a guard the rest of the trappers began to search for the trail of Rafe Norris. But they missed the keen eyes and subtle skill of Old Pegs, the man who could read in rocks and sod the slightest pressure of the human foot, and the search for a long time was vain, and Dave Farrell began to despair of success. They could find no trail. In the meantime, Myrtle was a prisoner in the hands of Rafe Norris. He rapidly descended the slope which led to the hunter’s cabin, holding her by the hand, and led her in at the open door of her former home. “Here we are, my dear,” he said quietly. “You see that it becomes my province to make you welcome to the home which was once yours. Do not mistake me, sweet girl. I will do you no wrong, unless it is wicked in me to wish to make you my wife.” “It is more than wicked—it is cruel and unmanly. Oh, if my hands could reach a weapon your life would be short.” “Doubtless you are right, Myrtle,” he said mournfully. “You would slay one who stands ready to lay down his life in your service, and who is willing to devote that life to make you happy. Can I say nothing to make you change your purpose, my darling?” “Can you bring the dead to life? Will you be able to call Nicholas Fletcher from the bloody grave your hounds have given him? Oh, how base I should be if I ever forgot or forgave this last crowning crime!” “Enough,” he cried, harshly. “I see that good words are but thrown away upon you, and that harsh measures are necessary. My mind is fully made up, and you will find that I can be harsh if it seems to be needful and can compel obedience to my wishes. Hold out your hands; I must bind you or you will attempt to escape.” She put out her hands as if to comply, but as he stooped to take up the buck-skin thong from the table, she bounded past him, and the sharp click announced that she had opened the trap beneath the bed. Before he could reach it the second click announced that it was closed again. Furious with passion he tugged at the light couch, and literally tore it from its place, but the trap remained firm in its place and all his efforts could not move it in the least. Dashing out into the next room he caught up a heavy ax and darted back. “Stand out of the way below,” he cried, “or you may be hurt.”