Mestayer started and his face flushed darkly, his eyes blazing with anger. His clenched fist uprose as if to deal a crushing blow upon the pale but undaunted face of the hunter, when a lithe form sprung forward and caught his arm. It was Lola. “Father—think what you do! Strike a bound and helpless man—for shame!” With an effort that seemed wondrous in a man so old, he hurled the maiden across the chamber, with a bitter curse. For a moment Campbell thought he meant to slay her, but then with an effort, Mestayer calmed his passion, saying in a stern tone: “Go, now, and see that you keep your station. No more eavesdropping, or it will be the worse for you. Stay—I forgot. Remain here and keep guard over this man, until I return. It is time James was going.” Lola returned and sunk down beside the couch where lay the young hunter. His gaze followed her motions and then their eyes met; but only for a moment. Then Lola’s eyes drooped, a burning blush suffusing her rich complexion. Very different was her appearance then from what it had been when confronting James Mestayer, under somewhat similar circumstances. In point of fact she was in greater peril at that moment than Campbell himself. The face of the handsome hunter had made a deep impression upon her heart, and for the first time in her life, Lola began to realize the meaning of the term, _love_. CHAPTER VIII. AT BAY. When he left Ned Campbell, Albert Mestayer entered the first chamber or cell, where we a week previously to this date, found him bending over the wounded leader of the Night Hawks. Here that worthy, now recognized as a nephew of the old man, was idly lolling upon a pallet of skins, his wounds almost entirely cured. He raised himself to a sitting posture as the old man entered, casting at him a quick, inquiring glance. Evidently the doughty leader of the Night Hawks regarded his newly-found relative with considerable respect. “Well?” he added, as the old man approached. “It _is_ well, so far, but we must work to keep it so. This young fellow tracked us home, and his are not the sharpest eyes on the border. Hawksley is out with the settlers. They may find this place at any hour, and then, though I could make a good fight first, my revenge would be cut short by death. You know my reasons for acting thus, because I have told you my story. Well, the time has come for you to play your part. I need your help now, because I can not leave Lola here alone. Are you ready to keep your oath?” “Yes. Tell me what I am to do, and I will not fail for lack of trying,” was the prompt reply. “Good! I like to hear men answer like that. But now listen. You remember what I told you about the Kiowa chief, Chigilli?” “Yes.”