pend on your doing this."

"The first I can do with ease, but as to the latter, my agreeing to do
so depends on whether the action you require of me is honourable. You
must forgive me, Rits--"

"Hush! Don't forget that there is no such man as Ralph Ritson in these
mountains. _My_ life may depend on your remembering that. Of course I
don't expect you to act a dishonourable part,--all I want you to do just
now is to lie down and pretend to go to sleep."

"Truly, if that is all, I am ready," said Charlie; "at all events I will
shut my eyes and hold my tongue."

"A useful virtue at times, and somewhat rare," said Buck, leading his
guest back into the cavern. "Now, then, Brooke, lie down there,"
pointing to a couch of pine-brush in a corner, "and try to sleep if you
can."

Our hero at once complied, stretched himself at full length with his
face to the light, and apparently went to sleep, but with his left arm
thrown over his forehead as if to protect his eyes from the glare of the
fire. Thus he was in a position to see as well as hear all that went
on. Buck Tom went to the sick man and whispered something to him.
Then, returning to the fire, he continued to stir the big pot, and sniff
its savoury contents with much interest.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

FRIENDS AND FOES--PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS--THE RANCH IN DANGER.

In a few minutes the sound of heavy feet and gruff voices was heard in
the outside passage, and next moment ten men filed into the room and
saluted their chief heartily.

Charlie felt an almost irresistible tendency to open his eyes, but knew
that the risk was too great, and contented himself with his ears. These
told him pretty eloquently what was going on, for suddenly, the noise of
voices and clattering of footsteps ceased, a dead silence ensued, and
Charlie knew that the whole band were gazing at him with wide open eyes
and, probably, open mouths. Their attention had been directed to the
stranger by the chief. The silence was only momentary, however.

"Now, don't begin to whisper, pards," said Buck Tom, in a slightly
sarcastic tone. "When will ye learn that there is nothing so likely to
waken a sleeper as whisperin'? Be natural--be natural, and tell me, as
softly as ye can in your natural tones, what has brought you back so
soon. Come, Jake, you have got the quietest voice. The poor man is
pretty well knocked up and needs rest. I brought him here."

"Has he got much?" the sentence was c