TO MAKE THE VENTURE.

The more that Herbert Bernard thought over the matter the more he felt that his father was right, that he had, indeed, made a fool of himself.

That Red Hatchet was always a welcome visitor at the ranch he had known, as well as that he seemed to be always most friendly toward Jennie; but that the Sioux chief had ever hoped to win her for his wife had never crossed the mind of the young settler.

He had never been let into the secret of Jennie's rescue by the young chief, and more, that he was in love with her.

That he had now intrusted her to the care of the Sioux nearly broke his heart.

"Oh, if you would only kick me for a fool, father," he groaned.

"No need of it, for you learn a bitter lesson in feeling what you have done. I should have thought that you would have known better than to trust her in such hands," said the elder Bernard, who showed the deepest chagrin over the affair.

"The Sioux have always been so friendly, father."

"Oh, yes, and will be, I hope."

"And you have held such power over them."

"In time of peace, yes, but they are at war now, and the Indian is a study which no man has ever learned."

"You know, then."

"Yes, to-day; but what will they be to-morrow?"

"Well, I thought I was preventing her escape."

"You have most effectually done so; but did you have the talk with her I suggested?"

"I did."

"Well?"

"She despised me, she said, and you, too."

"And your mother talked with her, she told me."

"Yes, and with the same result."

"She would not listen to becoming your wife?"

"She would not."

"Herbert?"

"Yes, father."

"Do you know that this plan must not fall through?"

"How do you mean?"

"She must become your wife."

"I am willing."

"I have plotted and planned for years, and I say it shall be as I wish."

"I said I was willing, unless she has become the wife of that Chief Red Hatchet."

"If she has, it has been to escape you."

"Well?"

"Well, she shall not escape you."

"Do you mean——"

"I mean that there is but one way out of all this, and that is that Jennie Woodbridge shall be your wife, under all circumstances. You have entrusted her to the care of Red Hatchet, and now you must go and get her."

"Suppose he refuses to give her up?"

"Then return for me."

"For you, father?"

"Yes."

"You will get the aid of the army to rescue her?"

"I will do nothing of the kind, for I wish no dealings with the army; I hate military men, and would be glad if I never saw a soldier again," and the man spoke with a vehemence that was vicious.

"Well, how would you rescue her, may I ask?"

"That is my affair; but you go and make the effort."

"I will."

"Mind you, do nothing rash, and cause no bloodshed. Simply go and claim your own; but do it in such a way that the girl will think you have risked your life to save her. It will have a good effect with her, and, after all, you may win. If you can win her in that way, and by kindness, so much the better, for you may need to ask a favor of her some day."

"Then I am to go to the hostile camp?"

"Yes."

"I am to go as I am?"

"No, for you must not be seen to go there."

"By whom?"

"That argus-eyed officer, Carey, for he is watching the trails like a hawk."

"I know that."

"If he sees you go there, as a white man, it may cause trouble, innocent as your motive may be."

"Yes, I can understand that, father; but how am I to go?"

"I will rig you up for the work, and you will have no difficulty in getting into the line of the hostiles."

"And then?"

"You are to see the Red Hatchet and claim your sister, as he supposes her to be."

"Yes."

"But you are to arrange with him, if he is willing to give her up, so that it appears as though you rescued her from him."

"I understand."

"If he refuses to give her up——"

"Yes, father."

"Then return, and I will go."

"And you expect to accomplish what I fail to do?"

"If you fail, then I will get the girl, never fear."

"You speak confidently."

"I speak from a full knowledge of what my power is, boy. Now, come to me to-night, and I will prepare you for your journey, and before dawn you must enter the lines of the hostiles."

"I understand fully," was the response of the young settler.

That night what appeared to be an Indian chief rode away from the ranch of Settler Bernard, and he took the trail to the Bad Lands.

He went along at a canter, as though anxious to reach his destination in the shortest possible time, and once well away from the ranch, deserted the trails, and rode across country.

Before dawn the plateaus of the Bad Lands arose before him, and he seemed to know well his way, for he did not hesitate, but held straight on into the country of the hostiles, where it was certain death for a pale-face to go; the horseman was not an Indian, but Herbert Bernard, who had boldly made his venture to rescue Jennie from the Sioux chief, in whose keeping he had made the sad mistake of intrusting her.