it--only want to make certain that you've
done the deed. You may keep it to ornament your dress or to boast about
to your squaw. If you should take a fancy to do a little murder on your
own account do so. It matters nothin' to me. I'll be ready to back you
up if they give chase."

While the robber-chief was speaking he searched about for a suitable
piece of wood to span the chasm. He soon found what he wanted, for
there was much felled timber lying about the work of previous visitors
to the Outlook.

In a few minutes Maqua had crossed, and glided in a stealthy, stooping
position towards the camp, seeming more like a moving shadow than a real
man. When pretty close he went down on hands and knees and crept
forward, with his scalping-knife between his teeth.

It would have been an interesting study to watch the savage, had his
object been a good one--the patience; the slow, gliding movements; the
careful avoidance of growing branches, and the gentle removal of dead
ones from his path, for well did Maqua know that a snapping twig would
betray him if the camp contained any of the Indian warriors of the Far
West.

At last he drew so near that by stretching his neck he could see over
the intervening shrubs and observe the sleepers. Just then Drake
chanced to waken. Perhaps it was a presentiment of danger that roused
him, for the Indian had, up to that moment, made not the slightest
sound. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, the trapper looked cautiously
round; then he lay down and turned over on his other side to continue
his slumbers.

Like the tree-stems around him, Maqua remained absolutely motionless
until he thought the trapper was again sleeping. Then he retired, as he
had come, to his anxiously-awaiting comrade.

"Bevan not there," he said briefly, when they had retired to a safe
distance; "only Mahoghany Drake an' two boy."

"Well, why didn't ye scalp them!" asked Stalker, savagely, for he was
greatly disappointed to find that his enemy was not in the camp. "You
said that all white men were your enemies."

"No, not all," replied the savage. "Drake have the blood of white mans,
but the heart of red mans. He have be good to Injins."

"Well, well; it makes no odds to me," returned Stalker, "Come along, an'
walk before me, for I won't trust ye behind. As for slippery Paul, I'll
find him yet; you shall see. When a man fails in one attempt, all he's
got to do is to make another. Now then, redskin, m