“Let me finish. I know that my words seem strange, unlady-like, if you will, but consider what my past life has been. And yet, I have only obeyed my father. I have never sinned of my own free will. He thinks me all ice, but I can love, I _do_ love; I have loved with all my soul ever since you came here. Now you know my heart. To win your love I am willing to disown father—all else.” “I have no love to give you. It was all _hers_—my poor, lost Fannie’s,” muttered Ned, yet strongly affected by the passionate, yet pleading tones of the strange girl. “You will in time—I do not ask nor expect it all at once. I will love you so tenderly and wholly that you _must_ return it, in time.” “If you loved me as you say, you would free me and trust to my gratitude for your reward.” “And thus lose you forever? No—no! I would rather, far rather kill you here, then take my own life, than to run that risk,” cried Lola, her eyes flaming. A strong temptation was upon him. Why not dissimulate,—or even give a positive pledge, if by these means he could gain freedom? “Wait—I must think of this a little. I can not answer you now,” he said, at length. “You must be quick, for there’s no time to lose. Father will soon return. And he is looking for his messenger, sent to bring a band of savages here. They intend attacking the settlements, when your mother, sister, and the Hawksley family will be captured. Decide quickly, and you may be in time to save them.” CHAPTER X. THE CLEW. Though Chigilli, the Kiowa chief, had acted so promptly in dispatching a runner for reinforcements, that fact was likely to avail him little, for the movements of the settlers were prompt and decided. The outlaw, James Mestayer, was the cause of this. First, Jack Colton had recognized him, and now, recovered from the effects of his fall, was eager to attack them. Then Archibald Hawksley, in the confused struggle, believed that in him he saw the abductor of his daughter. Though it was Albert Mestayer who performed that deed, his disguise had made him look like a much younger man, and there was a family resemblance between the uncle and nephew, so that Hawksley’s mistake was natural. A plan of attack, bold and daring, was quickly arranged. “Jack Colton, you will take one-half of the men, and I’ll lead the others,” hurriedly commanded Hawksley. “You go to the right and gain the foot of the hill. Then when I give the signal, close in. But remember, the white man must be taken _alive_.” Separating, the two parties rode up to the hill base, then dismounting, drew their revolvers, ready for work. At the signal they glided rapidly along, and soon reached the defile before a shot was fired. Then ensued a scene of frightful confusion. It was not a fight that can be drawn in words, for each man fought on his own hook, singling out his foe with eyes for naught else.