“No—I did it,” tremblingly cried Fannie, as she saw the peril of one innocent. “You too!” for the first time noticing the maiden. “Fortunately I am prepared for it. Now, sir,” he added, in a cold, deadly tone. “Drop your pistol, or I shoot you down like a dog.” “Two can play at that game. Stand aside and let us pass,” uttered Campbell, as with a rapid motion he raised his pistol to a level. “Bah! If I should, what better would you be by it? My friends are by this time at the _baranca_. They would stop you if I did not.” “Father, let them go free. Those coming without are _their_ friends, not yours. They are white men—the settlers who were on his trail,” and Lola glided forward. “Traitress! but I’ll not be balked entirely—I’ll strike one blow before I die!” His pistol spoke, and the bullet claimed a victim. But not the one at whose life he had aimed. Lola sprung forward, shielding with her body the life of the man whom she so madly loved. With a groan of agony she sunk down upon the blood-sprinkled floor, her young life going out as she gasped a name—the name of him she had saved from death. With a howl of fury, Campbell fired twice in quick succession, but the last shot was superfluous. The murderer of his father was dead—shot through the brain. Staggering back against the wall, faint and weak, Campbell cocked his pistol. From without there came loud, excited cries, and he had not understood the speech of Lola. He believed them also enemies. But then as he recognized the foremost, Archibald Hawksley and Zeb Ruel, he muttered a thanksgiving and fainted. But little more need be added, for the meeting and little explanations may be left to the reader’s imagination. Fred Hawksley was found, bound and gagged, but unhurt save from the blow given him by Mestayer when the strange decoy had lured him to the den. In a week he was as well as ever. Campbell had only fainted from loss of blood, and was soon restored. The wound Fannie had received in the fight on the prairie was slight, and already nearly healed. As the party left the cave, it was found that James Mestayer had disappeared, but two days afterward he was found. Fearing death he had urged his horse to break its fastenings, though he himself was still firmly bound. In the mad gallop that ensued, his saddle turned, and he, falling beneath the mustang’s belly, had met his death. The Kiowas, awed by the death of their chief, quietly retreated to their hunting-grounds, and the threatened Indian war blew over. Of course Ned and Fannie were married, now that Fred was found, and equally of course, Zeb Ruel and the rest of the young hunters were gay and welcome guests. Albert Mestayer and his ill-fated daughter, Lola, were interred in one grave upon the banks of the _baranca_. But their strange story did not die for many a year, and is still occasionally alluded to, in that section. THE END.