Reynolds laughed as he looked down the steep cliff.

"How are we to get the gold out of this place?" he asked. "It will be difficult to take it by the way we have just come."

"Oh, that will be no trouble, as we can easily get it to the Tasan, and from there take it down on _The Frontiersman_. I have been some distance up the river and know that it can be navigated. We can----"

Weston never finished his sentence, for the sharp crack of a rifle suddenly split the air, and a bullet, pa.s.sing through the top of Reynolds' hat, spattered on the rock close to his head. Instantly another shot rang out, farther down the creek, followed immediately by a wild, piercing shriek of pain. Then all was still.

Greatly surprised and mystified, the men leaped to their feet, and stood staring across at the opposite hill from whence the sounds had come. But nothing could they see except the great silent wall of rock and earth. Each man grasped his rifle in readiness for any emergency, not knowing what to expect next.

"Who can it be?" Weston asked. "What is the meaning of that second shot, and the scream of pain? There's something wrong over there, that's quite evident."

"Suppose we cross over and investigate," Reynolds suggested. "It may have been a stray shot which went through my hat. But, h.e.l.lo! who's that?"

"Where?" Weston asked.

"Don't you see him?" and Reynolds pointed to his left. "Look, he is moving along the top of the hill toward where we heard the first shot."

The form of a man could be seen, gliding swiftly and cautiously forward, carrying a rifle. Only brief glimpses could be obtained of him as he emerged now and then from behind rocks and clumps of stunted trees, so it was impossible to make out whether he was a white man or an Indian. At length he vanished entirely for several minutes, while the curious and anxious watchers waited for him to reappear.

It seemed to them much longer than it really was before they saw him again, and this time he was standing upon a huge rock motioning with his arms.

"Why, it's Sconda!" Weston exclaimed in amazement. "What does he want?" he asked, turning to Natsu, who all the time had remained perfectly silent.

"'Come quick,' Sconda say," was the reply.

"Ask him what is the matter," Weston ordered.

This Natsu at once did, but all the answer he received was the request to hurry.

"What ails the fellow, anyway?" Weston growled. "Why can't he tell us what's wrong? Anyway, we might as well go and find out for ourselves, for there is something mysterious about this whole affair. Confound it all! I want to make a further examination of this mine and see how far it extends. This is certainly provoking."

It did not take them long to reach the bed of the creek, although they received a number of bruises and scratches in the swift descent. But the climb up the opposite hill was a difficult undertaking, and by the time they reached the top they were almost exhausted. Here they rested a few minutes, and then hurried as fast as possible toward the spot from where Sconda had signalled his message. The latter they did not again see until they had scrambled over a series of jagged rocks, and plowed their way through a tangle of scrubby bushes and trees. At last they suddenly beheld him bending over something lying upon a rock, which as they drew nearer they found to be the form of a man.

Weston now was in the lead, and at the first glance he recognized the prostrate man.

"It's the villain Dan!" he exclaimed. "What in time is he doing here?

Is he dead?" he asked, turning to Sconda.

"Dan no dead," was the reply. "Dan all same sleep."

"Unconscious, eh?" Weston queried as he stooped and felt the man's pulse. "He's alive, all right, but bleeding. Did you shoot him, Sconda?"

"Ah, ah, Sconda shoot."

"Why did you shoot him?"

"Dan shoot first. Dan shoot at Big White Chief," and Sconda pointed to the cave across the ravine.

Weston looked at Reynolds as the light of comprehension dawned upon his mind.

"It seems to me that there is something in Indian presentiment, after all," he confessed. "How did you know that Dan was going to shoot me?"

he asked Sconda.

The latter, however, made no reply. He merely shook his head and glanced furtively and anxiously around. This Weston noticed, and it aroused his curiosity.

"What's the matter, Sconda? You seem to be nervous. Do you expect more shooting?"

"Sconda no savvey. More bad white man. Ugh!"

"Well, then, let us get away from this place as soon as possible."

"What about Dan?" Reynolds asked. "We can't leave him here."

"That's true," and Weston turned toward the wounded man. "He deserves to stay, though, for his base treachery. But we cannot do that, so must tote him back to the cabin. It will be a hard task, and the villain isn't worth it. But, come to think of it, we must not let him die until we hear his story. There may be others in this plot, and we must find out who they are. Come, Sconda, give us a hand. Surely four of us can carry him."

An exclamation from Natsu caused the white men to look quickly around, and as they did so they saw Sconda some distance away, bounding like a deer from rock to rock. At first Weston stared in amazement. Then he called and ordered him to come back. For the first time in his life Sconda paid no heed to his master's command, but sped rapidly forward, and in a few minutes was entirely hidden from view.

CHAPTER XXV

BY THE INLAND LAKE

It seemed to Glen as if the morning would never wear away as she sat and guarded her prisoner. The severe strain was showing its effect upon her face, which was unusually pale. Her eyes never once left the man before her, and the revolver, as it rested lightly upon her lap, was pointed straight toward him, ready for immediate action. She would not allow Curly to speak, and whenever he made the attempt she sternly checked him and menacingly raised her weapon of authority. Her brain was very active, and her thoughts were by no means happy ones. Suppose her father and lover should be shot ere Sconda could do anything, what would be the outcome? she asked herself. She was well aware that Sconda and Natsu would be more than a match for Dan, but he might escape and get back to the cabin first. Her face became stern as she thought of this, and she made up her mind what she would do. She could deal with Curly all right, and settle his account. She would then have only Dan to face. Anyway, she was determined that she would never fall into the hands of those two villains so long as her revolver held true and while the last cartridge remained.

And thus she retained her post through the slow morning hours. The sun rode high in the heavens and beat upon her throbbing head. Birds flitted and sang around her, and squirrels chattered and scolded among the trees. Would Sconda never return? she wondered. What could be keeping him! At times she felt that she could endure the strain no longer, but when she realised how much was at stake she always nerved herself by a mighty effort.

Curly watched Glen's every movement, and seeing how weary she was becoming trusted to catch her off guard, spring forward, strike the revolver from her hand, and seize her in his arms before she could shoot. This was his only hope, but whenever he was on the point of making the desperate attempt, the stern word of command and the slightly lifted weapon caused him quickly to desist. Glen seemed to divine his purpose, and always checked him in time.

So desperate did Curly at length become that he decided to throw all caution to the wind. He was very anxious over Dan's tardiness in returning, and feared lest his scheme had failed. He knew full well that if Jim Weston should suddenly appear and find him in such an embarra.s.sing situation it would go hard with him. It would be death, anyway, without any chance of defending himself. He knew how furious Weston would be at the attempt made not only upon his own life but upon his daughter's honor. The perspiration poured in great beads down his face as he thought of this. Glen saw his agitation, and attributed it to the heat of the sun and weariness. She little knew what was pa.s.sing through the villain's mind. And, in fact, she never learned, for at this critical moment Sconda bounded from the forest and stood by her side. A cry of joy escaped Glen's lips as she beheld her deliverer and knew that she was saved.

In a twinkling Sconda grasped the situation, and with a terrible roar of rage be brought his rifle to his shoulder and would have shot Curly where he stood, had not Glen leaped to her feet and laid her hand firmly upon the smooth barrel.

"Don't shoot!" Curly yelled, wild with terror, ere Glen could say a word. "Fer G.o.d's sake, let me go!"

But the enraged Indian was not easily diverted from his purpose, and it was only with much difficulty that Glen was able to make him listen to reason.

"Curly bad," he argued. "Curly all same black bear. Ugh!"

"I know that, Sconda," Glen agreed. "But I want you to mind me now, and let him go. Search him, and take his gun."

Very reluctantly Sconda obeyed, and in a few seconds he was holding in his hand Curly's revolver and a big, sharp, dangerous knife.

"There, I feel safer now," and Glen breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Take him away, Sconda," she ordered. "I want to get him out of my sight."

As Sconda seized the wretch roughly by the arm, and was about to hurry him away, Curly emitted a cry of fear, and turned toward Glen.