With the stealthy tread of a panther, Bert climbed over the improvised rampart, and a few seconds later his form merged into the enveloping darkness and was lost to the view of his anxious friends. They listened with straining ears for any sound of shot or struggle, but the deep silence of a prairie night remained unbroken.

Bert pursued his way swiftly, but at the same time he exercised all the knowledge that a life of adventure had given him to detect with ear or eye the presence of a lurking enemy. He had traveled several hundred yards when suddenly he heard what seemed to be a stealthy rustling, off somewhere to his right. He dropped to the ground like a flash, and, scarcely daring to breathe, peered through the velvety blackness, straining his eyes in an attempt to make out the cause of the sound.

For the space of perhaps a minute all was as still as the grave, and Bert had almost made up his mind that the noise must have been occasioned by a snake or lizard, when suddenly, within three feet of where he lay he made out the form of an Indian, a mere black splotch against the slightly lighter background of the sky. The savage did not move, and Bert knew that he had not been discovered as yet. But the dark form seemed to have no intention of going any further, and Bert came to the conclusion that the brave was one of the band that had been detailed to surround the devoted little party of whites.

Bert knew that it would be impossible for him to move without being discovered by the Indian, so he resolved on a swift, deadly attack as the only way out of the dilemma.

Gathering his muscles for the spring he suddenly launched himself like a thunderbolt at the Indian. With the same motion he drew his revolver and aimed a blow at the savage's head, for he knew that a single shot would give the alarm and frustrate all his plans.

But the wily redskin was not to be so easily caught off his guard. With a grunt of surprise he half turned to meet the attack, and the butt of Bert's revolver dealt him only a glancing blow. Before the savage had a chance to shout a warning, however, Bert had grasped him by the throat with one hand, while he rained blows from the clubbed revolver on him with the other. The Indian made a desperate attempt to loose his assailant's hold and secure the knife from his girdle, but Bert's attack was too fierce and deadly. In a few seconds the struggling form of the brave grew limp and fell to the earth.

Without giving him a moment's further notice, Bert started out over the desert at a swift run, guided by his almost instinctive sense of direction. He ran quickly and lightly with the speed and silence of a wolf, and he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving when he realized that he was clear of the besiegers.

In a short time he reached the line of newly laid rails that marked one more stride of civilization into this far western country. He scrambled up the steep embankment, and was not long in locating a telegraph pole. He climbed this quickly and once securely seated in the crossbars made ready to send the message that meant life or death to himself and the little party back there by the over-turned stage coach, dependent on him for their very lives.

He drew from a pocket a pair of cutting pliers that he had secured from the coach's toolbox, and donned a pair of thick leather gloves that he had borrowed from the driver. With the pliers he severed the single telegraph wire, and grasped the two ends in his gloved fingers.

"Now," he thought, "if there's no current in the wire everything will have gone for nothing. But if there is——"

He brought the severed ends together, and was overjoyed to see a snapping little blue spark play about them.

"Great!" he shouted aloud, and then set himself to send the message. He was an expert telegrapher and knew the Morse code as well as he knew his own name. Of course, he had no means of telling whether or not anybody was receiving his sending, but had to go ahead on the chance that they were.

"Attacked by Indians," he sent. "Near stage-coach trail—twenty miles east of Helena. Send help, quick."

He repeated this message again and again, until he felt sure that somebody must have received it. Then he twisted the two ends of the wire together, and slid down the pole.

"Now to get back with Dick and Tom and the others," he thought. "It's going to be no easy matter, either. I have an idea it's going to be harder to get in than it was to get out."

He retraced his course with the utmost caution, until he judged that he must be nearing the Indian outposts. Then he dropped at full length on the ground and commenced crawling forward at a snail's pace, pausing every few yards to listen intently for any indication of danger. At one time he heard a murmur of guttural voices at no great distance, and proceeded with redoubled caution until he left the sound behind. Gradually he worked himself along until he knew he could be at no great distance from his friends. The danger of being caught by the Indians now seemed to be passed, but Bert realized that it would never do to approach his party without giving warning of his coming, as the chances were they would take him for an enemy and shoot before he could make himself known to them.

For a time he was at a loss to think of some signal that would be recognized by those within the improvised fort, but at last had an inspiration. Softly he whistled a bar of one of the old college songs. There was no reply at first, but he repeated the refrain a little louder this time, and was overjoyed to hear the tune taken up by a whistle that he recognized as Tom's. He waited a few minutes, to give Tom time to warn the others of his coming, and then ran swiftly forward until he reached the inclosure.

Dick and Tom almost hugged him in their joy at his safe return, and then questioned him anxiously as to whether he had sent the message.

"I got it through, all right," said Bert, "and I don't think there's much doubt that somebody received it. Now it's only a question of holding out until help comes."

"It'll have to come mighty soon," declared Buck, who had seemed much surprised at Bert's safe return; "at dawn or jest before is the time the varmints will close in upon us."

The hours dragged on and, as Buck had predicted, just before dawn a hideous yell rent the air, and a shower of bullets whined over the heads of the besieged party.

They grasped their firearms and prepared for a desperate encounter. But for a few minutes after the outbreak all was silent as the grave, and in the slight respite the first pale streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky.

"Thank God for the light, anyway," exclaimed Dick fervently; "at least we'll be able to see what we're doing."

Before anybody could reply to this there was another shrill yell, and against the rapidly lightening sky the defenders could see a vague body of horsemen charging toward them.

"Shoot!" yelled Buck, suiting the action to the word. "Make every bullet tell." Outside of the two passengers, who were unarmed and could do little to aid the defense, there were five men behind the ramparts who were excellent marksmen. Dick's and Tom's revolvers barked viciously, and the deadly rifles wielded by Bert and the stage driver made havoc in the ranks of the attacking braves. Sam, the guard, wielded his heavy Colts with the skill and sure aim of a veteran, and the Indians broke ranks under the withering hail of bullets. They wheeled their horses off to either side of the stoutly defended fortification and galloped out of range, leaving a number of still figures on the ground.

"First blood for us," shouted Bert exultantly. "I guess we gave them a warmer reception than they figured on."

"Yes, but they'll be back pretty soon," said Buck. "There's a hundred of them if there's one, and they would never dare face the tribe again if they let themselves be beaten by half a dozen 'pale faces'."

Nothing could have suited the three comrades better, for their fighting blood was aroused, and all thought of danger was swallowed up in the primitive love of battle that is inherent in every man.

"Here they come," shouted Dick, and come they did, but more cautiously this time. They had learned their lesson, and realized how deadly was the white mans' aim. They hung low from the saddle, on the side farthest from the defenders, thus interposing the bodies of their horses as shields between themselves and the defenders.

In this fashion they galloped and wheeled back and forth in front of the breastworks, firing over and under their horses, and drawing ever a little closer, a little closer, until they should close on the devoted little band of whites and annihilate them.

Bert's unerring rifle never failed of its mark, and whenever an Indian raised his head ever so little over his horse's back the Winchester spoke and one more still form was added to the many already strewed over the ground. The revolvers barked steadily and terrible havoc was wrought among the ranks of the attacking redmen.

But now their savage blood was up, and death itself had lost its power to daunt them. Slowly the circle about the besieged constricted, and suddenly the attackers, at a given signal, abandoned their horses and, springing to the ground, rushed forward, shooting and emitting blood-curdling yells as they ran.

"Stand together, boys," yelled Buck, "we'll stand back to back and fight it out to the bitter end."

Nobody had time to answer, but they did as he suggested. The Indians were now close upon them, and with wild yells mounted the low embankment that had hitherto protected the white men. Rifles were useless at this short range, and Bert and the stage driver clubbed theirs and met the first savages over the embankment with death-dealing blows from the clubbed weapons. The savages pressed forward so fiercely and in such numbers that soon even this became of no avail, and they had recourse to their revolvers. The six-shooters barked steady streams of fire, doing fearful execution among the packed ranks of the attacking redmen.

The Indians were now fighting chiefly with knives, and the defenders began to suffer, too. One of the passengers dropped to the ground under a wicked thrust from the knife of a giant Indian, who seemed to be the leader. Then the big redskin, encouraging his fierce followers by voice and action, threw himself toward Dick, who happened to be nearest him. Dick had just fired the last shot from his revolver, and he had no time to reload. As the Indian sprang at him Dick clubbed his revolver, and made a terrific swing at the shaven head of his attacker. The savage dodged with the agility of a cat, and the blow merely glanced from his shoulder. With a yell of exultation the Indian raised his sharp knife, still dripping with the blood of its last victim. But before the weapon could descend, Bert's fist shot out like lightning, catching the redskin a terrific blow under the chin. The Indian's head snapped back, and he was almost lifted from the ground by the impact. Then he fell limply, and the fight waged on over his unconscious form.

The attackers, instead of being daunted by the fall of their leader, seemed spurred to an even greater pitch of ferocity, and fought like very demons. The whites, fighting silently and grimly, resolved to sell their lives as dearly as might be, presented a solid front and battled with the grim courage and ferocity of desperation. Bert and Dick and Tom fought as one unit, and again and again repelled the assaults of their swarming enemies.

But they were battling against overwhelming odds, and the end could not be far off. Sam, the guard, was down, whether dead or only wounded they did not know. All of them were wounded, and Tom's left arm hung useless at his side. They had no time to load their revolvers, and, with the last shot fired, drew their sharp hunting knives and fought like cornered wildcats. Eyes bloodshot, the odor of blood and sweat in their nostrils, they time and again flung back the leaping, yelling hordes pressing in on them.

But there is a limit to human endurance, and their arms were beginning to weaken, their aim to be less certain. Then suddenly the fierce attack wavered and weakened. To their dazed senses came the noise of rifle shots, and the sound of a bugle's strident note. Before they could realize that help had at last arrived the Indians had broken away and with wild yells were making for their horses. A detachment of cavalry set out in pursuit, while the commanding officer and his staff rode over to the exhausted defenders.

As they rode they looked wonderingly at the numbers of Indians scattered over the bloodsoaked ground. They galloped up to where the defenders, or what remained of them, lay panting on the ground, ringed about by a circle of those who had fallen by their hands.

"Well, boys!" exclaimed the captain, "I guess we came just in the nick of time. You were about at the last ditch, but from all the signs you must have put up a corking fight."

Before any one could answer, the surgeon, who had accompanied the rescuing party, arrived on the scene, and immediately took charge of the wounded men. One of the passengers was past all aid, and the other was badly wounded. The doctor shook his head when he examined the senseless but still breathing form of the guard, but finally announced that he had a chance to recover. Among the three boys Tom's wounded arm was the most serious injury sustained, although they had all suffered cuts and slashes and were weak from loss of blood.

By the time their wounds had been dressed and bandaged the first of the pursuing cavalry returned with the prisoners they had captured. An hour later the last of them rode in, reporting that the braves who had escaped capture had scattered to the four points of the compass, making further pursuit useless.

"Very well," said Captain Graham, their leader; "we'll return to Helena with the prisoners. But you lads," he said, turning to the three friends, "where were you bound for when you were attacked?"

Bert told him, and the captain told off half a dozen troopers to escort them to the ranch. "You deserve the highest praise for the plucky fight you put up," he said, "and I don't want your lives put in jeopardy by any of the redskins who may return to this neighborhood after we leave. I imagine they've had all the fight taken out of them by this time, however, and they'll probably make a bee line for the reservation. But it is best to be on the safe side, at all events."

The boys thanked him heartily for his timely aid, and then, each mounted on a trooper's horse, they and the escort set off in the direction of the ranch, first shaking hands with Buck, the stage-coach driver.

"You're plucky lads," he exclaimed, wringing their hands, "and we all put up the scrap of our lives. I don't know about old Sam"—here a shadow passed over his face—"but he's a tough old sinner, an' I reckon he'll pull through all right. I hope I'll see you lads again some time, I sure do."

It was with real regret that the friends parted from him, and more than once they turned in their saddles and waved their hats to him, until his sturdy figure was swallowed up in the distance.

Shortly after this they descried an approaching dust-cloud in the distance, and the troopers, thinking it might be a new band of Indians or some of the survivors of the dispersed one, unslung their rifles and made preparations to give them a warm reception.

As the cloud drew nearer, however, figures began to emerge from it, and in a few minutes the boys were able to make out the familiar faces of the ranch cowboys, headed by Mr. Melton. They were all armed to the teeth, and were spurring their horses along at a gallop.

Soon they were within hailing distance, and as the cowboys recognized the three boys among the troopers they emitted joyful yells, and by way of salute many of them fired their revolvers in the air. Mr. Melton appeared more overjoyed than anybody else, however, and as the two parties met and drew rein he exclaimed:

"Thank the Lord you're safe! When your horses galloped in late last night without you I feared the worst. Tell me what has happened."

The cowboys crowded around, and listened eagerly while Bert gave an account of the attack by the Indians and its result. When he had finished, but before anybody had time to say anything, the corporal, who commanded the escort, broke in: "From the way he tells it," he said, "you might imagine that it had been a good deal less of a fight than it was. But we counted over twenty dead redskins, besides a lot that were more or less badly wounded. It must have been some shindy, take it from me."

"I'm sure proud of you boys," exclaimed Mr. Melton, with glistening eyes; "but I'm not so much surprised, after all. I always knew you were grit clear through, anyhow."

"Oh, there was nothing very wonderful about it," disclaimed Bert. "We had to fight, whether we wanted to or not. It wasn't a matter of choice."

"Well, we won't argue the matter," smiled Mr. Melton; "what you need now is food and rest and a little nursing. We'll ride back home just as soon as we can, where you'll get plenty of all three. I guess we won't need to trouble you any more," he continued, addressing the corporal commanding the detachment; "there's enough of us here to hold our own in case of an attack, I think."

"I reckon so," said the corporal, sizing up the score or more of lean, square-jawed cowboys, "and in that case we might just as well return to camp."

He took leave of the three comrades, who thanked him for his escort, and with the troopers at his heels galloped off.

On the trip to the ranch the cowboys crowded around the boys, and plied them with innumerable questions, which they answered to the best of their ability. On their arrival they were turned over to motherly Mrs. Melton, who insisted on redressing their wounds, and then, after they had made a hearty meal, packed them off to bed.

"Gee, boys!" exclaimed the foreman, before the cowboys dispersed to their alloted tasks, "those lads are sure there when it comes to deliverin' the goods, ain't they? An' to think that once in a moment of besotted ignorance I referred to them as 'tender-feet.' Why, it don't seem possible them boys can be Easterners at all. It seems like they jest must 'a' been born west o' the Rockies."

As this was the highest eulogium any of them could think of, they acquiesced in their foreman's words and dispersed to work.