d was pointing excitedly up the valley.

"Mother of men, they are murdering him!" "Come on!" and Thure, grabbing
up his rifle, made a jump for his horse, followed by Bud.

Three-quarters of a mile up the valley from where our young friends had
slain the big grizzly, a spur of rocks projected down into the valley,
reaching like a long finger almost to the fringe of trees along the
creek; and around this spur of rocks three men had slowly ridden, and,
just as they had come in sight from where the boys stood, Bud, whose
eyes had happened to be turned in that direction, had seen two of the
men suddenly and apparently without warning set upon the third man and,
after a short struggle, knock him off his horse. It was this sight that
had caused his sudden cry of alarm, followed by Thure's exclamation of
horror, "They are murdering him!" and the quick jump of both boys for
their horses.

It took Thure and Bud less than a minute to reach their horses and to
spring up into their saddles; but, in that brief time, the unequal
struggle up the valley was over, and the two men were bending over the
prostrate body of their victim, apparently searching for valuables, when
the two boys, with loud yells, spurred their horses at full speed toward
them.

At the sound of their voices, the two men looked suddenly up, saw them
coming, hastily grabbed up a few things from the ground, evidently taken
from the man they were robbing, jumped to their feet, sprang on the
backs of their horses, and, before either boy was near enough to shoot,
both had disappeared around the spur of rocks, lashing and spurring
their horses frantically.

Thure and Bud jerked up their horses by the side of the fallen man and,
jumping from their saddles, bent quickly over him.

"They've murdered him!" cried Bud, the moment his horrified eyes saw the
white face and the bloodstained breast of the stricken man. "They have
stabbed him! The cowardly curs!"

"No, he is not dead! I can feel his heart beat. The stab was too low to
reach his heart. Quick, we must do something to stop this flow of blood,
or he soon will be dead," and Thure tore open the bosom of the rough
flannel shirt, exposing the red mouth of a knife wound from which the
blood was flowing freely.

Thure and Bud were both familiar with the rough surgery of the plains
and the mountains; and soon their deft hands had swiftly untied the silk
scarfs from around their necks, plugged the wound with one of the