since he saw none within reach.

The stream was less than a hundred yards wide and the current not swift.
The water was roiled to that extent that the bottom could be seen only a
few paces from shore, but the slope was so gradual that the rancher was
hopeful that the horse would be able to wade it.

He scanned the water and finally turned to his wife with a smile:

"Where do you think we had better try it, Molly?"

"I know of no way of learning the depth of water except by test," she
replied; "if it were clearer, we could make use of our eyes."

"I wonder if it is clearer up yonder," he remarked, looking at a clump
of bushes above them and some rods in extent. "It strikes me that it may
be; anyway, I will find out."

Instead of riding to the spot he dismounted, and, rifle in hand, walked
the short distance necessary. As he did so, naturally he gave more heed
to the stream than to his footsteps, for it was the former in which his
interest lay. Dot laughed merrily when he stumbled, and he looked about
and shook his head in mock anger at her.

The bushes he approached were no more than three or four feet in height,
not very dense, and continued with straggling interruptions as far as
the eye could trace the winding stream.

Mrs. Starr, who was attentively watching her husband, saw him pause on
reaching the stunted growth. He looked at the water and then at the
bushes. Then he suddenly leaped back with an exclamation and came
hastening to his wife, his white face and staring eyes showing that he
had made a horrifying discovery.

CHAPTER X.

BENT ARM AND HIS BAND.

George Starr was so agitated that, forgetting the presence of his little
child, he impulsively spoke the truth, while yet a few paces away:

"Plummer is in those bushes."

"Is he----"

Mrs. Starr hesitated with the dreadful word unuttered.

"Yes; he is dead; killed by the Indians!"

The wife gave a gasp, and the husband added:

"The poor fellow lies stretched out, stark and stiff, where he was shot
down by the Sioux. He must have been killed shortly after leaving the
house."

"Where is his horse?"

"I suppose it has been stolen. It is a sad thing, but poor Plummer is
with his Maker; it won't do for us to wait any longer; I don't
understand how we have escaped thus far, for we are in greater danger
than I had supposed. We must cross the stream without delay, even if we
have to swim our horses."

"I am ready," said Mrs. Starr calml