“Here you ar’!” announced old Jack, as he drew up before one of the young city’s hotels, a large wooden structure from which loud voices came. “Here’s the Gold Bug, the house whar all my best passengers stop.” The man was on the ground as Jack spoke, and the next instant was walking toward the hostelry. He entered the bar-room with the air of an old frequenter of such places. His eyes took in the crowd in several restless glances; but, all at once, he seemed to shrink from the scene. He stopped almost suddenly, for a hand dropped somewhat lightly on his shoulder. Deadly Dan, as the young man called himself, wheeled quickly. He stood face to face with the young buck. “Brother, come back!” ejaculated the Indian, his eyes filled with recognition. “Yes, and I’m twice as desperate as the starving wolf. Hold your tongue. If you move it again, I’ll scatter your brains right and left to the winds!” It was plain that the twain who consulted each other in the smoky bar-room had met before. There was threatful defiance in Deadly Dan’s eyes; savage pleasure and revenge in the Indian’s. “Brother didn’t expect to find Red Crest here?” “Curse you, no! but since we have met--” “We might make one trail, eh, brother?” “If that is what you mean, yes!” grated Dan, and the hand that had rested lightly on his hip glided to his revolver. The quick eye of the Indian detected the movement. “Not here, brother,” he said, quietly, but with unmistakable eagerness in his tone. “Too many here.” “As you please,” murmured Dan. “But I thought that the son of the forest might want to die under a roof like decent white people.” For a moment the young Indian did not reply; but he unsealed his red lips again it was to say “Come!” as he turned suddenly on his heel. Red Crest was moving toward the low-browed door, confident that Deadly Dan was on his heels. “It is the only card I can play; he turned the Jack on me before I had been ten minutes in Custer. I didn’t expect to see him here, but we had to meet some time. I must follow him--yes, I must kill him!” Red Crest being the guide, led the way. They left the town behind, and after ten minutes’ walk, the Indian halted at what appeared to be the mouth of a little gulch. “Here!” he said, whirling upon his antagonist. Deadly Dan, for the first time, started as if the monosyllable had exploded a shell at his feet. “I’ve been a fool--a confounded idiot!” he murmured. “While we were coming down here, I was leaving the golden opportunity slip. I was thinking, but not about the vital interests of the hour--not about the life I was bringing down here to put up for an Indian’s target. No, curse me! If I had recurred to business for one brief minute, I would now be going back to Custer alone--yes, alone!” Did the gleaming eyes of Red Crest discern the thoughts that were flitting through the Sport’s brain? If they had not, why did he say-- “Red Crest trusted his brother who might have shot him as they walked.”