lay Beresford got to his feet. "We'll step
back into the shadow," he announced.

"Looks reasonable to me," agreed the smuggler.

They waited in the semi-darkness back of the camp-fire.

Some one shouted. "Hello, the camp!" At the sound of that clear,
bell-like voice Morse lifted his head to listen better.

The constable answered the call.

Two riders came into the light. One was a girl, the other a slim,
straight young Indian in deerskin shirt and trousers. The girl swung
from the saddle and came forward to the camp-fire. The companion of
her ride shadowed her.

Beresford and his prisoner advanced from the darkness.

"Bully West's after you. He's sworn to kill you," the girl called to
the constable.

"How do you know?"

"Onistah heard him." She indicated with a wave of her hand the
lithe-limbed youth beside her. "Onistah was passing the stable--behind
it, back of the corral. This West was gathering a mob to follow
you--said he was going to hang you for destroying his whiskey."

"He is, eh?" Beresford's salient jaw set. His light blue eyes gleamed
hard and chill. He would see about that.

"They'll be here soon. This West was sure you'd camp here at Sweet
Water Creek, close to the ford." A note of excitement pulsed in the
girl's voice. "We heard 'em once behind us on the road. You'd better
hurry."

The constable swung toward the Montanan. His eyes bored into those of
the prisoner. Would this man keep his parole or not? He would find out
pretty soon.

"Saddle up, Morse. I'll pack my kit. We'll hit the trail."

"Listen." Jessie stood a moment, head lifted. "What's that?"

Onistah moved a step forward, so that for a moment the firelight
flickered over the copper-colored face. Tom Morse made a discovery.
This man was the Blackfoot he had rescued from the Crees.

"Horses," the Indian said, and held up the fingers of both hands to
indicate the numbers. "Coming up creek. Here soon."

"We'll move back to the big rocks and I'll make a stand there,"
the officer told the whiskey-runner. "Slap the saddles on without
cinching. We've got no time to lose." His voice lost its curtness as
he turned to the girl. "Miss McRae, I'll not forget this. Very likely
you've saved my life. Now you and Onistah had better slip away
quietly. You mustn't be seen here."

"Why mustn't I?" she asked quickly. "I don't care who sees me."

She looked at Morse as she spoke, head up, with that little touch of
scornful defiance in the qu