Even now he did not forget his prudence, but rode slowly away, readjusting the bushy beard upon his face. Though late, he might meet with some person and this would aid in directing the search that he knew would follow with the morning. “Now, my dear,” he uttered, as he carefully removed the plaster from the maiden’s lips, “I do this in pure kindness of heart, and I hope for your sake that you will not abuse my confidence. It’s not likely we will meet with any of your friends, but if we _do_ and you should cry out, that cry will be your last. You understand?” “Where are you taking me? Why have you done this? What have I ever done to you that you treat me so?” faltered Fannie. “Nothing—but your father has—much. Never mind now. It will be explained to you in due time. Until then, keep still. It will be better for you,” was the brutal reply. Fannie dared not disobey this command, and relapsed into silence. But with each passing moment her natural self-possession grew stronger, and she began to take note of the direction in which she was being taken. Haley made no attempt to prevent this. He seemed to feel that Fannie was too entirely in his power to make this knowledge dangerous to his plans. Now that she was more herself, the maiden regretted not having given the alarm, while help was near, and inwardly resolved that should another opportunity offer, to embrace it at all hazards. For over an hour Haley galloped steadily on, and Fannie felt her heart sink as she realized that they were now far beyond all habitations of her friends, with nothing but the vast, almost limitless prairie stretching out before them. Where was she being taken? What had fate in store for her? Her eyes were closed, her head drooping in despair, when, with a low, fierce curse, Mark Haley suddenly drew rein. With hope thrilling her heart, Fannie eagerly raised her head and gazed around. “Utter a whisper and I’ll murder you!” hissed the abductor, venomously. Fannie saw the reason he had uttered this caution. Before them, blocking the very path they had been pursuing, she could just distinguish the forms of three men. Though their features were indistinct, the dress bespoke them white men. She saw in them a last hope. The threats of Mark Haley were forgotten or disregarded. In a clear, imploring voice she cried out: “Help—for the love of God, save me!” With a snarling curse Haley lifted his clenched fist and drove it forcibly full between her eyes. With a convulsive shudder, Fannie’s head drooped and she lay a lifeless weight upon his arm. “Hellow! what’s the meanin’ o’ all this, anyhow?” gruffly demanded one of the three men, stepping forward, his rifle muzzle in advance. “What ye got thar, mister?” “None of your business. Attend to your own affairs and don’t meddle with mine,” boldly replied Haley. “Eh? Jes’ lis’en, boys. Don’t he crow loud? Reckon you don’t know—why, hellow! Is’t you, Cap?” and the man lowered his weapon, his face expressing great surprise.