to join the throng. Rube also looked round in search of a
pony that might carry him back to the rear. There was one not many
yards away, tugging at the halter that held it.

Rube rose to his knees, only to realize that in his fall he had injured
his hip, and could not even crawl. How, then, could he hope to mount a
strange horse without help?

He was still on his knees, trying to rise to his feet, when something
like the sting of a whip struck his right cheek and ear. He put up his
hand to his face, and drew it away wet and stained. The warm crimson
moisture trickled down his neck, and dripped from his chin. He opened
and shut his mouth.

"Gee!" he exclaimed ruefully. "Seems I'm wounded. Jaw ain't put outer
gear, though. Might ha' bin worse--heaps worse."

"Lie down flat, Rube! Lie down flat!"

It was Kiddie's voice. Rube instinctively obeyed the command, without
even looking round to see where the voice had come from. But as he
prostrated himself, he glanced forward and saw quite near to him a
young Sioux chief mounted on a fine black horse, and wearing a
magnificent feathered war-bonnet.

It was Broken Feather.

The chief was aiming with his revolver at a mark beyond where Rube lay.
He pressed the trigger; but the chambers were empty, the cartridges all
spent; and when no shot followed, he gripped the gun by its muzzle end,
flung back his arm, and threw the weapon from him with all his force.

Rube had turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and now, just
at the moment when the weapon was thrown, he saw Kiddie stretch out his
hand and adroitly catch it, as he might have caught a cricket ball.
Kiddie, still riding the same lank, piebald prairie pony; still unhurt
in the battle; still cool and self-contained.

"So it's you--you--that have been leading these Crows against me?"
snarled Broken Feather, with an angry scowl.

"Well," returned Kiddie, dropping the chief's revolver and drawing back
his hand under his blanket; "you may take it that way if you choose.
It seems I'm here. Anyhow, I guess you're pretty well beaten this
time."

Broken Feather had seized the haft of his tomahawk, and was holding his
bridle rein ready to make a desperate charge forward to a hand to hand
encounter.

But Kiddie had foreseen his intention.

"Steady, there, steady!" he cried, quickly withdrawing his hand and
levelling his fully-loaded six-shooter at a point between Broken
Feather's eyes. "Put up you