ainly the Indians moving
one of the blocks of stone that had so carefully been placed there that
afternoon.

"They're opening the corral, my lad," said Joses just then, in a hoarse
whisper; "and if we don't stop 'em we shall be having 'em drive the
whole lot of bullocks and cows right away into the plains, and never see
a hoof again."

"What's to be done, then?" whispered Bart, whose face was covered with a
cold dew, while his cheeks were at fever heat.

"Well, my lad, they seem to have found out the way easy enough by
crawling over the cattle trail, and it's a very unpleasant thing to do,
but I suppose we shall either have to be robbed, or else we must stop
'em; so as the Doctor won't like all our cattle to go, I'm going to stop
'em."

"It's very horrible," whispered Bart.

"Horrid, my lad; so's having your cattle and horses stole, for if they
get one they're bound to have t'other; so is being starved to death; and
the worsest of all is being scalped, and that's sure to come if we let
them brutes go."

"But it is so horrible to shoot them, Joses," panted Bart.

"'Tis, my lad, so don't you do it. Leave it to us. Hah! that's a big
stone down, and the cattle's beginning to fidget. Now, Beaver, what do
you say?"

The Beaver answered with his rifle, which gave a sharp report, just as
the moon shone out a little more clearly.

"Hit!" said Joses, laconically, as they saw quite plainly the two
Indians start back from the rocks right out into the clear moonlight,
one of them uttering a fierce, hoarse yell, and staggering as if about
to fall, when the other sprang forward and caught him by the chest,
holding him up, and, as it was plain to see, forming of the body of his
wounded companion a shield to protect himself from the bullets of their
unseen assailants.

"They must not go away and tell tales," muttered Joses, as he took aim;
but just then the interpreter's rifle rang out, and the half-nude Indian
turned partly round, so that they could see in white paint upon his
breast, seeming to gleam horribly in the moonlight, the ghastly skull
and cross-bones that seemed to have been adopted as the badge of the
tribe. Then he fell back into the arms of his friend, who clasped his
arms round him, and backed slowly, keeping the wounded man's face to the
firing party, while, as if mechanically, the injured savage kept step.

_Crack_ went the Beaver's rifle again, and there was a dull thud telling
of a hit, but still t