f course! And like as not Braxton Wyatt is among those who are with
him."

Sol Hyde looked at Henry. There was a queer light in the eyes of the
shiftless one.

"Do we want 'em to ketch us?" he asked.

"I think we'd better wait and see."

It was in no tone of boasting that either spoke. Three borderers such as
they could shake off the pursuit of any men who lived.

"S'pose we lead 'em on a while," said Tom Ross.

Henry nodded, and the three ran in a sort of easy trot toward the
southeast. They took no trouble to hide their trail, and as the forest at
this point was free from undergrowth, they were visible at a considerable
distance. This easy trot they kept up for hours, and the extraordinary
powers, or intuition, of Henry Ware told him that the Miamis were always
there, a quarter of a mile, perhaps, behind. But the three men were never
troubled. There was no fear in their minds. This was only sport to them.

They crossed brooks and little creeks, and at last, when they came to one
of the latter a little larger than the others, Henry Ware said:

"I think it's time to bother 'em now. We'll wade here."

They entered the creek, which had a hard, pebbly bed, and walked rapidly
against the stream for at least a quarter of a mile. Then they emerged in
dense undergrowth, and turned backward in a course parallel to that by
which they had come. But before going far they sank down in a dense
thicket, and lay quite still. Then they saw the Miami band pass--fifteen
or sixteen warriors, led by Yellow Panther, with Braxton Wyatt trailing at
the rear. "The renegade!" said Shif'less Sol savagely, under his breath.

The band passed on, but the three borderers did not stir. They knew that
the trail would be lost presently, and some, at least, of the warriors
would come back seeking it.

Fifteen minutes, a half hour, passed, and then they heard distant
footsteps. Henry Ware, peering above the bushes, saw a face that belonged
to a white youth, and suddenly a daring project formed itself in his mind.
Braxton Wyatt was alone! Other members of the Miami band must be near, but
they were not in sight, and, above all, Braxton Wyatt was for the present
alone! Only a few minutes were needed!

"Watch what I do!" whispered Henry Ware to his comrades--he knew that
their keen minds would need no other hint.

Braxton Wyatt came back, looking on the ground, his rifle lying loosely
across his shoulder. He dreamed of no danger. The three susp