ed to the man she felt sure would assist her.

"I will, Miss Winthrop, don't fear," answered Pawnee Brown. "So, Yellow
Elk, we meet again. I reckon you remember the man who kicked you all
around the agency two years ago because you tried to steal his new pair
of boots?"

"Ugh!" grunted Yellow Elk. He had just managed to scramble out of the
fire, and was beating out the flames which had caught on a fringe of his
garments. "Pawnee Brown."

He muttered a fierce imprecation in his native tongue. Then, before
Pawnee Brown could stop him his pistol flashed in the fire-light. He took
aim at the scout's head and fired.

But though the action of the Indian chief was quick, the movement of the
boomer was quicker.

Many times had he been under fire, and he had learned to drop when
occasion required as rapidly as it could be done.

With the pressure upon the pistol trigger he went down like a flash and
the bullet intended for his head merely grazed the top of his hat and
flattened itself upon the cave wall opposite.

"Bah!" hissed Yellow Elk, when he saw how he had missed. He attempted to
take him once more, but now Pawnee Brown hurled himself on the redskin,
turning the barrel of the weapon aside, and both went to the stone
flooring with a crash. Nellie Winthrop let out a shriek of terror.

"Do not let him shoot you! Make him throw the pistol away!" she cried,
as she wrung her hands. She would have liked to assist Pawnee Brown, but
could not see how it could just then be done.

CHAPTER XIII.

NELLIE'S FLIGHT.

Over and over on the stone flooring rolled the boomer and his red enemy,
now close to the fire and again off to one side, where there was a
slight hollow still wet from the recent storm.

Pawnee Brown had Yellow Elk by the throat and across the back, while the
Indian held his antagonist by the shoulder with one hand, while trying
to beat his brains out with the pistol that was in the other.

Once Yellow Elk succeeded in getting in a glancing blow, which drew
blood, but did no great harm. But now Pawnee Brown's grip was
tightening. The redskin was choking. His eyes bulged from their sockets
and his tongue hung out several inches.

"Ugh!" gasped the Indian chief. In vain he tried to shake off that grip.
It was like that of a bulldog and could not be loosened. He struck out
wildly, but the pistol butt only landed upon Pawnee Brown's shoulder, a
shoulder that was as tough as iron and could stand any amou