“He’s a wild prince,” said Fred; “look at those horns. My, but I’d like to have that head mounted.” “I reckon you kin, if you’ll take the trouble o’ carrying it home. I’ll skin it for you, when we get there. Then you can get it stuffed and get eyes fer it. Take a good look, so you’ll know the right color.” “That’s good of you,” said Fred, as they set to work to get the sheep ready to pack on old Buck’s back. Tied securely there, they took up their way again. As they reached the broader trail in the main canyon, the mountaineer stopped and looked sharply at the tracks. “Bunch o’ Injuns has gone down the canyon this mornin’. ’Bout time they was gettin’ back. Wall, we’ll just keep clear o’ their trail by taking another. Same bunch, I reckon, that I see the other day.” “Is their camp near here?” asked Fred. “Right up in the cove at the head of that gorge.” Uncle Dave pointed to the south. “That’s the only trail into it, and it ain’t fit fer a mountain sheep. I can’t figure out how they got their squaws and papooses into it. Mighty curious to me why they’ve holed up so smart.” “They’re a bunch of thieves, that’s why,” said Fred, positively. “Wall, whatever they be, we’d best not cross their trail; let’s slip down on the other side of the creek. Foller me close and keep your eyes peeled.” They had just forded the stream and were following a deer trail cautiously through the brush, when the old mountaineer suddenly stopped, eyes and ears alert. He listened a moment, then motioning Fred to follow, stepped quietly into the thicker willows; and there they waited, peering through the brush to the main trail just across the creek, a few rods away. A moment more and here came the band of Indian marauders, single file up the trail, with Flying Arrow at their head and Ankanamp just behind him. They had almost filed past when Buck snorted. The old horse could never stand the smell of Injuns. One of the hindmost of the band caught the sound, stopped, and looked sharply through the willows to catch sight of the hunters. He passed the word ahead, and the whole band drew rein and turned around. Uncle Dave, seeing that they were discovered, began calmly to take up the trail toward home; but with a whoop several of the young bucks plunged their ponies across the creek and headed the hunters off. Old Tobe, bristling like a cornered panther, leaped in front of his master, ready to defend him. “Quiet, Tobe,” said the mountaineer, as the savages plunged through the brush around them. An ugly look of triumph lighted Nixon’s face when he recognized Fred. “Oh, ho! the cow-kid!” he gloated. “Playin’ the sneak on us, huh!”--the tone turned hateful. “I’ll teach you a trick or two. Here,” he ordered, “tie ’em up.”