moving in order to pay Arkansas City
another visit.

"Go on, Jack. You're my right-hand man, but I'll manage somehow without
you," answered the great scout. "A pretty niece for any man to have,"
and he handed back the photograph, after a somewhat close inspection.
Two minutes later found Jack Rasco on his way, to encounter adventures
of which he had never imagined.

"A note for you, Pawnee." It was one of the scouts sent out that morning
who spoke as he rode up. Pawnee Brown read the communication with
interest.

"Come up to the ravine back of Honnewell as soon
as possible," ran the note. "I think the cavalry are
up to some new dodge, or else the cattle men are going
to play us foul. Urgent. DAN GILBERT."

"I must away, boys!" cried Pawnee Brown, tearing up the note. "Be ready
to move, but don't stir until you hear from me," and, giving a few more
instructions, he borrowed a fresh horse from Carl Humpendinck and set
off on a gallop of twelve miles across the country.

As he covered mile after mile, through woods and over stretches of broad
prairie, he could not help but think of his racing mare, Bonnie Bird.
How she would have enjoyed this outing, and how she would have covered
this ground with her twinkling feet.

"I must find her and find the rascal who stole her!" he muttered. "I
wouldn't take twenty thousand dollars for Bonnie," and he meant what he
said. The little mare and the great scout were almost inseparable.

The afternoon sun was sinking low when Pawnee Brown struck the outskirts
of Honnewell (spelled by some writers, Honeywell). Not caring to be seen
in that town by the government agents, who might inform the cavalry that
the boomers were moving in that direction, the scout took to a side
trail, leading directly for the ravine mentioned in the letter.

Soon he was picking his way down a path covered with brush and loose
stones. Upon either side were woods, and so thick no sunlight
penetrated, making the spot gloomy and forbidding.

"Now, I suppose I'll have no picnic in finding Dan," he mused. "I'll
give the signal."

The shrill cry of a night bird rang out upon the air, and Pawnee Brown
listened attentively for a reply. None came, and he repeated the cry,
with the same result.

"I'll have to push on a bit further," he thought, and was just about to
urge forward his horse when a crashing on the opposite side of the
ravine caught his ear. Instinctively he withdrew to