wo
stay here and wait for Injin Charley," he commanded, indicating two of
the gang. "We have got to let him know what we've learned. I reckon
we'll be back by night, if we ain't, you follow us in the morning."

"What shall we do with the kid?" inquired one of the men.

"Turn him over to Injin Charley when he comes in. I reckon he'll know
what to do with him," said the leader with a grin so evil and
suggestive that it made the helpless lad's blood run cold.

The four outlaws and their leader mounted their ponies and soon were
lost to sight among the trees. The two left behind proceeded to make
themselves comfortable without a thought for the exhausted lad whose
tight bonds cut cruelly into arms and legs. They raked up beds of
leaves upon which they spread their blankets and then proceeded to make
up for the sleep they had lost during the night.

Walter was not only suffering much physically, but was in great mental
distress as well. He feared that at any moment Charley, alarmed by his
long absence, might call or fire off one of the guns and bring the
outlaws to his hiding-place. How could he warn him of the danger he
was in? Suddenly the bound lad was seized by an ingenious idea.
Assuring himself by their deep breathing, that his captors were fast
asleep, he began to whistle, softly at first, then gradually louder and
louder till the weird, mournful strains of the "Funeral March" filled
the air.

One of the guards tossed restlessly and woke up cursing. "Shut up that
whistling," he shouted, "that blooming thing gets on my nerves."

Walter had no option but to obey, but the awesome tune had carried its
doleful message. The mournful notes had reached the ears of the
wounded lad in the canoe. Its message was plain to him. Walter was a
captive, or in great danger. And now began a contest between
will-power and pain and weakness from which many a man would have
shrunken.

Three times Charley struggled to rise to his feet, only to sink back
exhausted with great beads of sweat standing out on his brow. At last,
abandoning the attempt, he began to wriggle back towards the stern of
the canoe. His progress was slow and painful, and even in the short
distance to be covered, he had often to lay quiet and rest. At last he
succeeded in reaching the stern, but here his difficulties were by no
means ended. Working awkwardly with his left hand he managed to draw
his hunting-knife and slash open the pack of provisi