buffalo.”

“It happens to be right on our way to camp,” remarked Dick, tightening his grip on his long-barreled rifle, “so we can find out what’s up without going far out of our path.”

This, of course, pleased Headstrong Roger, always in readiness for adventure, it mattered little of what nature. He always maintained that he had a long-standing debt against the tribe of lupus on account of that terrible fast mentioned by his cousin, and, although powder and ball were not too plentiful, he seldom failed to take a shot at his four-footed enemies when the chance came to him.

So now he fancied that he would end the prowling of at least one red-tongued woods rover. Certainly he could spare a single charge, and it would give him more satisfaction than almost anything else. You see, Roger had rubbed the old sore when he spoke of that bitter experience in the past, and it smarted again venomously.

As they pushed steadily on, the sounds increased in volume. They could even hear the thud of heavy bodies falling back to the ground after frantic leaps aloft, as though endeavoring to reach some tempting object among the branches of a tree.

Then Roger, who had the keenest eyesight of the pair, muttered:

“There, I can just begin to see them through the trees and brush yonder, Dick; and, as we believed, they have some human being treed, or else are trying to force conclusions with a panther, which would be a strange thing, to be sure.”

“We’ll soon know,” the other whispered, “for it’s only a little way. Yes, I can see them jumping up, just as you say. Roger, fasten your eyes on the tree above, and tell me what that dark object is.”

A minute later, as they still kept pushing forward, Roger uttered a low cry.

“Well, after all, it’s an Indian brave up there. And he’s already shot a number of the brutes with his arrows; but I reckon his stock has given out. He tries to strike them as they jump at him, using his knife. And, Dick, I can see now that he isn’t a Mandan Indian at all, but more likely one of those Sioux who, under their sub-chief, Beaver Tail, did us such a good turn last fall, when we saved Jasper Williams from the French traders. But what can a Sioux warrior be doing here, in the land of his foes, the Mandans?”

“‘HE TRIES TO STRIKE THEM AS THEY JUMP AT HIM’”