s, Running Rabbit winding in and out with the certainty
of one on familiar ground. The way was rough, and they slackened their
pace, riding one behind the other, Indian file.

Running Rabbit reined in where the moonlight turned a limestone hill to
silver, and threw up his hand to halt.

He untied the rope which bound Smith's hands and feet.

"You can't coil a rope no more nor a gopher," said Smith, watching him.

"The white man does many things better than the Indian." Running Rabbit
went on coiling the rope.

He motioned Smith to follow, and led the way on foot.

"I dotes on these moonlight picnics," said Smith sardonically, as he
panted up the steep hills, his high-heeled boots clattering among the
rocks in contrast to the silent footsteps of the Indian's moccasined
feet.

Running Rabbit stopped where the limestone hill had cracked, leaving a
crevice wide at the top and shallowing at the bottom.

"This is a good place for a white man who coils a rope so well, to rest,"
he said, and seated himself near the edge of the crevice, motioning Smith
to be seated also.

"Or for white men who shoot old Indians in the back to think about what
they have done." Yellow Bird joined them.

"Or for smart thieves to tell where they left their stolen horses." Bear
Chief dropped cross-legged near them.

"Or for those whose forked tongue talks love to two women at once to use
it for himself." The voice was sneering.

"Smith, you're up against it!" the prisoner said to himself.

As the others came up the hill, they enlarged the half-circle which now
faced him. Recovering himself, he eyed them indifferently, one by one.

"I have enemies, friends," he said.

"White Antelope had no enemies," Yellow Bird replied.

"The Indian woman had no enemies," said Running Rabbit.

"It is our friends who steal our horses"--Bear Chief's voice was even and
unemotional.

Their behavior puzzled Smith. They seemed now to be in no hurry. Without
gibes or jeers, they sat as if waiting for something or somebody. What was
it? He asked himself the question over and over again. They listened with
interest to the stories of his prowess and adventures. He flattered them
collectively and individually, and they responded sometimes in praise as
fulsome as has own. All the knowledge, the tact, the wit, of which he was
possessed, he used to gain time. If only he could hold them until the sun
rose. But why had they brought him there? With all his adroit