THE torrent loosed by the cloudburst steadily grew less and less, and at the end of two hours the stream had shrunk almost to its former insignificant proportions. The boys might have returned to the site of the camp and remained in safety until morning, but they had no inclination to do so. Indeed, it would have been hard to identify the spot, for the grass everywhere lay as flat as if a mountainous roller had pressed it down. Here and there could be dimly seen the trees, some shorn of their limbs, so that they were like so many logs, twisted and pronged stumps and, strange as it may seem, boulders weighing in some instances several tons, lay where they had been flung by the raging waters.

When no doubt remained that the danger was over, the bridles, saddles and packs were again placed on the ground and the horses set free. It was impossible to start another fire, since no fuel was obtainable, and the brothers sat on the ground, wrapped in their blankets and near enough to feel their mutual warmth. The shock through which they had passed drove away all inclination to sleep, and they talked and speculated until the gray light of morning glowed in the east.

Naturally they looked for the return of the Blackfoot, who had left them the night before. The valley, strewn with the debris of the flood, stretched out before them, and they gazed up and down its winding extent and across to the corresponding slope, but without seeing man or animal. Not the least striking feature of the scene was the carcasses of several elks and antelopes, while in the distance was recognized the brown, bulky body of an immense bison or buffalo. These various animals, doubtless with others that were not visible, had paid the penalty of being caught in the irrestrainable rush of the torrent.

That Mul-tal-la had met with any mishap was impossible, for it was he who discovered the nature of the peril before the brothers knew of it. The same recourse was at his command, for all he had to do was to make for the higher land, where he would be beyond reach of the wrathful waters.

But the sun climbed the sky and the longing, wandering and impatient boys saw nothing of their friend. Almost directly opposite and a fourth of a mile away was a mass of boulders, some of which had apparently been brought down by the torrent.

“It seems to me,” said Victor, “that something is moving near those rocks. Try your spyglass on them, George.”

A minute’s scrutiny was enough to show that Victor was right.

“There are several Indians,” said George, still holding the glass in place. “They seem to be looking at us.”

“Mul-tal-la must be with them. I suppose he is telling about his two companions.”

“I don’t make him out, for the rocks interfere. You try it.”

He passed the glass to Victor, and, as the brothers stood side by side, the second leveled the instrument at the group. At the same moment the red men came from behind the boulders and moved down the slope in the direction of the boys, as if they meant to call on them. All were afoot, and two were of shorter stature than the others.

With the help of the glass Victor Shelton gained a clear view of the faces of the whole party, who were dressed much the same as the Blackfoot.

“Mul-tal-la isn’t there,” said the surprised lad. “I don’t understand that.”

“He can’t be far off. He’s likely to show up pretty soon. Shall we wait for those Indians, for they mean to visit us—that’s certain?”

“I don’t see how we can help ourselves. If we start to leave it will look as if we are afraid of them, and, though they are on foot, they can overhaul us without trouble. No; let’s stand our ground. I don’t believe they mean any harm, but I should feel a good deal easier in mind if Mul-tal-la was on hand. It is odd that he and Deerfoot should be away at the time we are most likely to need them.”

The strangers came straight forward, and were soon so near that every face was clearly seen without the aid of the glass. The brothers learned that what they suspected was true: two of the Indians were boys, perhaps a little older than our young friends, and one of them was certainly taller. All were armed with bows and arrows, their dress being similar, as has been already said, to that worn by the Blackfoot.

George and Victor felt anything but comfortable. Previous experience warranted the hope that the Indians meant no harm, but for the time the youths could not be certain on that point. While the strangers probably would have acted friendly had either the Shawanoe or Blackfoot been with the lads, it was doubtful how it would be when they found the two alone. Place a party of lawless persons, no matter what their race, in a tempting situation, where they have no fear of any consequences of wrong-doing, and they may be depended upon to do wrong.

Had the boys been certain that mischief impended they would have warned the party off, but doubting and puzzled as to what was best to do, they waved their hands in token of good-will and awaited their coming as if nothing in the world could please them more.

The nearer the Indians approached the less the boys liked their looks. Their dress was shabby and their faces ugly. The taller of the dusky youths had daubed his face with paint at some remote period in the past, and enough remained to add to his repulsive looks, which were not diminished when his broad mouth expanded into a grin. His companion was not quite so tall, and was of broader and huskier frame.

The least repellent of the three warriors displayed some superiority in dress to the others. The hunting shirt had more fringes at the bottom; the dilapidated moccasins showed a few more beads, and he had three stained eagle feathers pointing upward from his crown, while neither of the others sported more than two. From these facts and a certain deference shown by the couple, George and Victor believed this fellow was a chief among his people. Furthermore, our friends were convinced that this particular redskin was the father of the boys, and I may add that in both suppositions the brothers were right.

“Howdy?” grinned the leader, who was a pace or two in advance of the others. As he spoke he extended his right hand to George, his long bow being in the left hand.

“Howdy?” replied George, taking the palm of the other. “I am glad to see my brothers,” he hypocritically added.

It was quickly apparent that none of the Indians could speak English. The salutation of the leader was the only word he knew. He made a response to George’s greeting, but it was unintelligible to the boys. He said something more, and, releasing his hand, reached out and took George’s rifle from his grasp.

It was done so deftly that the weapon was gone before the owner knew it.

“Why did you let him have that?” asked the resentful Victor.

“He took it before I had any idea of what he was after. Maybe he only wants to look over it.”

The chief held up the gun, inspected the hammer and trigger, squinted one eye down the barrel (and Victor Shelton never wished more fervently that the rifle would go off), pretended to aim at some target in the distance, and then, instead of returning the weapon to the owner, passed it to one of his warriors.

He next looked at Victor, and took two or three steps toward him. The boy retreated, shaking his head and griping his weapon with both hands.

“There’ll be a fight before you get this, you old scamp!” replied the lad, compressing his lips and showing his anger so plainly that no one could mistake.

The dusky countenance of the chief took on a dangerous glint and his black eyes twinkled threateningly.

“Better let him have it,” said his brother. “There’s no help for it.”

“He doesn’t get it without a fight. I won’t stand like a lamb and let him rob me.”

The consequences must have been serious had not Mul-tal-la, the Blackfoot, put in an appearance at this critical moment. He came over the ridge from behind the boys, proving that he had crossed the devastated valley some time before.

All the strangers turned their faces toward the new arrival, and it was apparent from the expression on the face of the chief that he recognized Mul-tal-la. They had met when the Blackfoot passed through this region the year before, though none of the other four knew him.

The chief seemed really glad to meet the wanderer. They greeted each other and talked for several minutes, as if they had not the slightest knowledge of the presence of the others.

“They act as if they belonged to the same tribe,” said George, who, like his brother, was closely watching the couple. “I wonder if these folks are Blackfeet.”

“I don’t think so. They are not dressed quite the same. They look different, and the home of the Blackfeet is a good many miles to the north.”

Victor was in a combative mood. He could not get over his anger because of the robbery they had suffered, not to mention the second one that impended. He scowled at the chief and then glared at the youths standing by themselves. The shorter looked back and grinned threateningly.

“I’d like to have a set-to with that imp,” said Victor to his brother. “Did you ever see a meaner-looking thing?”

And to show his contempt Victor deliberately doubled his fist and shook it at the fellow, who grinned and placed his hand threateningly on the haft of his knife at his girdle. When matters looked ominous it was the lot of Mul-tal-la to interfere again in the interests of peace. Turning abruptly, he said to the boys:

“This Indian is Black Elk, chief of the Shoshones. Their warriors sometimes visit the Blackfeet, and he and I talk each other’s tongue. Those are his boys, Young Elk and Antelope.”

“What does he mean by taking George’s gun from him? He was about to rob me of mine when you came up, but he won’t get it without a row.”

“Let not my brother be hasty,” said the Blackfoot soothingly. “Black Elk has thousands of warriors and can do as he wills with us, but he is a friend of the Blackfeet; I stayed for several days and nights with him when on my way through here a year ago. Because he is a friend, he will not do what he meant to do. He says you shall make contest with his two sons, and the two that beat shall own the guns. Are you willing?”

“Nothing will suit me better, if the fight is to be a fair one,” was the prompt reply of Victor.

“I am ready,” added George; “but can you trust these people?”

“Mul-tal-la does not know about the others, but what Black Elk says he will do, that he will do.”

“Well, what is his plan?”

The Blackfoot now turned and talked for some minutes with Black Elk, one of the chiefs of the Shoshones. Then the chief called his sons to him, and there was more talk. The dusky youths looked at the boys and grinned in a way that showed they were pleased over the prospect and counted upon making short work of the pale-faced intruders.

“I’m aching to get at that chunky chap,” said Victor, who for some reason had taken an intense dislike of the ill-favored youth.

“Maybe you will ache more after you are through with him. You must keep cool, Victor, or it will go hard with you.”

Mul-tal-la now addressed himself to the boys.

“Black Elk has made these rules: My brother,” indicating George, “shall wrestle with Antelope—he is the tall one—and, if he throws Antelope, then the gun shall be given back to my brother; but if Antelope throws him, then he shall keep the gun of my brother.”

Mul-tal-la was slyer than his friends had supposed. He had been in the company of the youths long enough to learn that George Shelton was the superior of his brother in wrestling, and indeed possessed no little skill in that respect. The Blackfoot was sanguine that the white youth could overturn Antelope. And yet he was by no means certain, for the Indian was taller and showed that he was strong and agile. Many red men pride themselves on their skill in wrestling, and have good grounds for doing so. Mul-tal-la warned George of this and impressed upon him not to throw away the slightest advantage he could gain from the very outset.

To prove that Black Elk meant to be fair, he compelled his son to lay his knife on the ground beside his bow. The youth carried no tomahawk or other weapon, and to reciprocate, George handed his knife to Mul-tal-la.

“I suppose I am to wrestle that other monkey,” muttered Victor, scowling at the youth.

“No!” replied the Blackfoot, with a grin; “you and he are to fight.”

“Good! that suits me to a dot!” exclaimed the pleased Victor.