e other on the axle. The
axe-head swung in a half-circle. There was a crash of wood, a swift
jet of spouting liquor. Again the axe swung gleaming above her head. A
third and a fourth time it crashed against the staves.

A man by the camp-fire leaped to his feet with a startled oath.
"What's that?" he demanded sharply.

From the shadows of the wagons a light figure darted. The man snatched
up a rifle and fired. A second time, aimlessly, he sent a bullet into
the darkness.

The silent night was suddenly alive with noises. Shots, shouts, the
barking of the dog, the slap of running feet, all came in a confused
medley to Sleeping Dawn.

She gained a moment's respite from pursuit when the traders stopped
at the wagons to get their bearings. The first of the white-topped
schooners was untouched. The one nearest the entrance to the coulee
held four whiskey-casks with staves crushed in and contents seeping
into the dry ground.

Against one of the wheels a rifle rested. The girl flying in a panic
had forgotten it till too late.

The vandalism of the attack amazed the men. They could have understood
readily enough some shots out of the shadows or a swoop down upon the
camp to stampede and run off the saddle horses. Even a serious attempt
to wipe out the party by a stray band of Blackfeet or Crees was an
undertaking that would need no explaining. But why should any one do
such a foolish, wasteful thing as this, one to so little purpose in
its destructiveness?

They lost no time in speculation, but plunged into the darkness in
pursuit.

CHAPTER II

THE AMAZON

The dog darted into the bunch grass and turned sharply to the right.
One of the men followed it, the others took different directions.

Up a gully the hound ran, nosed the ground in a circle of sniffs, and
dipped down into a dry watercourse. Tom Morse was at heel scarcely a
dozen strides behind.

The yelping of the dog told Morse they were close on their quarry.
Once or twice he thought he made out the vague outline of a flying
figure, but in the night shadows it was lost again almost at once.

They breasted the long slope of a low hill and took the decline
beyond. The young plainsman had the legs and the wind of a Marathon
runner. His was the perfect physical fitness of one who lives a clean,
hard life in the dry air of the high lands. The swiftness and the
endurance of the fugitive told him that he was in the wake of youth
trained to a fine edge.