“Come on, boys; come quick! Scoot, you wolves, and get a lamb from the nearest flock! Don’t stand there looking, but scoot. I’ve got enough with me for one good square meal all ready, and the rest will be easy. Mike, you get on my cayuse. We can’t wait.” “What is it, Mike? Have you turned your ankle? Let me see it. No saying a word, but take off your boot, and quick,” said Helen, in the most matter-of-fact business sort of way. Then she deftly felt the injured foot and, with a quick wrench that made the strong man pale to the lips, she said: “Why, Mike, it was dislocated. No wonder it hurt. Now I’ll bandage it the best I can until we get to civilization again.” With a long strip of cloth which she carried in a little bag hung to her waist, Helen bandaged the foot while the others looked on in wonder, all wishing the ankle his own. Then Mike was kindly forced to mount the horse, and Shoshone outdid himself in consideration for Mike. As Dan and Snakes started for the lamb, Helen called them and told them the place was at the head of the small gulch on Bald Knob. Then she hurried Shoshone and Mike along, her own feet seeming tireless, although she had been tramping over the mountains all day long, and hungry. “Whenever the Injuns come around as thick as they have been lately,” said Mike, “the game gits scarce at once. I think as how the critters has a way of telling each other that it ain’t healthy for them to stay. Animals know lots more than we think. And they know that we don’t bother much with them so long as there is fat yearlings to eat for the asking. So when the Injuns come back from one of their jaunts, the critters just mosey off, each one telling the other that it ain’t safe to stay.” “I think you are right, Mike, and I have thought it so, too. But now we will be all right. I haven’t had a bite since yesterday.” Shoshone turned pale and hastily took the knapsack from his back, but Helen refused to touch a thing until they were all at the claim. “Vamose, vamose, boys!” cried Shoshone to the others, who were going as fast as the nature of the ground would permit toward a ranch down the valley. “Hurry up, you catamounts! Come, and keep coming till there’s enough grub for a month. The Angel is starved--that’s what!” Scarcely had the ringing voice of Shoshone ceased reverberating through the ravine than Helen and Shoshone saw the frail form of little Loney come flying down toward them. With all his feeble strength, he cried: “Help! Help!” “Why, Loney! what is the matter?” asked Helen, taking the panting child in her arms. “Speak, child, speak!” “Mr. Goldberg! Mr. Goldberg!” “What’s wrong, Loney?” asked Shoshone, filled with apprehension, for he knew how ignorant the old man was of life in this region, and he thought, in one brief instant, of dozens of dangers he might have run into through his ignorance--from a nest of mountain-lions to a cave-in of his tunnel. “He is dead! He is dead!” “Dead!” said Helen. “Dead! How?”