uld handle his horse with such
easy, steady grace among the rugged rocks of that treacherous hillside.
It was Nighthawk and his master.

"Raven!" breathed Cameron to himself. "Raven! Is it possible? By Jove!
I would not have believed it. The Superintendent was right after all. He
is a villain, a black-hearted villain too. So, HE is the brains behind
this thing. I ought to have known it. Fool that I was! He pulled the
wool over my eyes all right."

The rage that surged up through his heart stimulated his dormant
energies into new life. With a deep oath Cameron pulled out both his
guns and set off up the hill on the trail of the disappearing horseman.
His weariness fell from him like a coat, the spring came back to his
muscles, clearness to his brain. He was ready for his best fight and he
knew it lay before him. Swiftly, lightly he ran up the hillside. At the
top he paused amazed. Before him lay a large Indian encampment with rows
upon rows of tents and camp fires with kettles swinging, and everywhere
Indians and squaws moving about. Skirting the camp and still keeping
to the side of the hill, he came upon a stout new-built fence that ran
straight down an incline to a steep cut-bank with a sheer drop of thirty
feet or more. Like a flash the meaning of it came upon him. This was to
be the end of the drive. Here the cattle were to meet their death. Here
it was that the pemmican was to be made. On the hillside opposite there
was doubtless a similar fence and these two would constitute the fatal
funnel down which the cattle were to be stampeded over the cut-bank to
their destruction. This was the nefarious scheme planned by Raven and
his treacherous allies.

Swiftly Cameron turned and followed the fence up the incline some three
or four hundred yards from the cut-bank. At its upper end the fence
curved outward for some distance upon a wide upland valley, then ceased
altogether. Such was the slope of the hill that no living man could turn
a herd of cattle once entered upon that steep incline.

Down the hill, across the valley and up the other side ran Cameron,
keeping low and carefully picking his way among the loose stones till he
came to the other fence which, curving similarly outward, made with its
fellow a perfectly completed funnel. Once between the curving lips of
this funnel nothing could save the rushing, crowding cattle from the
deadly cut-bank below.

"Oh, if I only had my horse," groaned Cameron, "I might hav