Flora Robinette, with her white and red companions, rode rapidly away from the Blackfeet. It was her wish, as Wilder had ascertained, that she might be taken direct to her father’s usual trapping rendezvous, on the head-waters of Green River. In accordance with this wish, they soon crossed the Missouri, and shaped their course toward the south, intending to keep near the hills, in order to avoid wandering parties of Crows or other Indians.

White Shield, with a gloomy countenance, led the way, seldom speaking unless he was spoken to. Wilder and Flora followed, with little to say to each other.

The Blackfoot came to the conclusion, in the course of the night, that it would be better to cross the mountains at a pass near the waters of the Missouri than to remain on the eastern side of the range. The route, therefore, was again changed toward the west.

When morning came, they halted to prepare some food. Flora was so exhausted by loss of sleep, and by the long and rapid ride of the night, that she needed rest; but she was so fearful and excited that she was unable to snatch a few moments’ sleep. She sat by the fire, and conversed with Wilder, while White Shield, moody and meditative, sat apart, and smoked in silence.

“I hope you have forgiven me,” she said, “for distrusting you when you first offered me your assistance. I heard that you had joined the Blackfeet, and I was afraid of you.”

“Perhaps you were afraid that I would fall in love with you, and that I would try to push George Benning from the throne. You need not have entertained such a fear, as it is not at all likely that I will fall in love with you.”

“That is consoling, if not complimentary.”

“You are beautiful enough, no doubt; but I believe I am proof against beauty. If you happened to have a sister, and if she happened to be as beautiful as yourself, and a little older, and not quite so highly civilized, I might fancy her; but you are not wild enough, Miss Robinette, for Fred Wilder.”

“Unfortunately, I have no sister. I hardly know for which I ought to be the most grateful, for my deliverance from the Indians, or for your kindness in not falling in love with me.”

“It must be a satisfaction to know that you have not jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. But this is too serious a subject to joke about, Miss Robinette. You are not safe yet. It is a long journey to the rendezvous, and God only knows what enemies we may meet before we reach it. The Blackfeet, too, will be likely to follow us; but I hope we have too good a start to let them overtake us.”

“We ought to make sure that we escape, at least. Ought we not to continue our journey?”

“I suppose we must, if you really can not rest. My Blackfoot brother seems to be getting uneasy.”

In fact, White Shield came up at that moment, and told them that they must delay no longer, that Good Ax and his warriors would be on their trail, and that it was necessary to cross the mountains before they should be overtaken. They mounted, accordingly, and set forward at a smart pace.

A few hours’ ride found them fairly within the hills, and they halted on the summit of the highest they had reached, for a brief rest.

Their rest was very brief. The Blackfoot, looking back on their trail, pointed out to Wilder some dark objects that were speeding across the plain in the distance. It was soon evident that the dark objects were men on horseback, and that they were following the trail of the fugitives.

The white and red friends looked at each other. They knew that those Indians were Blackfeet who were bent upon their capture, and their looks denoted a determination to die rather than be taken.

“What shall we do, White Shield?” asked Wilder. “For my part, the Blackfeet shall not take me alive. I will fight them to the last.”

“White Shield will fight with his brother. He can do nothing else. The Blackfeet hate me worse than they hate you. If we were only men, we might escape; but we have a woman with us, and she is now very tired.”

Flora Robinette, who had listened to the conversation, and who had seen the approaching enemies, begged her friends to make haste to escape while there was time to do so. She was not tired, she said. She could ride as fast as they wished to ride, and they need not be afraid that she would hinder them.

“There is but one thing to do,” said the Blackfoot. “The pass is a difficult one, and there is a place at which one man can defend it against a hundred. We will stop there, my brother, and will fight.”

“Let us make haste, then, and reach it.”

The lapse of an hour found them in a narrow defile in the heart of the mountains. With difficulty they forced their horses up a steep incline, to the summit of the declivity, beyond which the trail was broad and easy. The Indian stopped and looked back, pointing down the defile.

“There are not enough warriors with Good Ax,” said he, “to take this pass, while it is defended by one brave man.”

“But they might surround us,” replied Wilder, “or they might starve us out in time.”

“I shall not stay here long enough to get hungry; but we will gain time. I will defend the pass, while my white brother and sister ride on and get far from their enemies.”

“You will do no such thing, White Shield. We can not allow you to sacrifice yourself for us, or to fight the Blackfeet, who are your brothers.”

“I am no longer their brother.”

“But you must not fight them. I will defend the pass, while you ride forward with Miss Robinette. You need not object, for I am determined that it shall be so. Is there any way by which the Blackfeet can get behind me?”

“There is a way; but it would take them several hours to get behind you.”

“Ride on, then, and I will keep them off as long as I can. Don’t be afraid, Miss Flora. You may safely trust yourself with my brother.”

The Indian reluctantly consented to this arrangement, and pointed to a white-topped peak, far to the westward.

“The trail is plain enough,” said he, “and it leads to that peak. If you do not find us there, you will find an arrow, to show you which way we have gone.”

Flora rode away with the Indian, after a few words of encouragement from Wilder, who then set himself at work to strengthen his position.

His first care was to collect a number of bowlders, as large as he could lift or roll. These he placed at the head of the declivity, blocking up the defile, until the pile was breast high.

This done, and the condition of his rifle and ammunition carefully examined, he sat down to fortify his inner man, while he calmly awaited the approach of the Blackfeet.

It was about noon when he heard them coming, and soon he saw them, and was able to count them, as they entered the defile. They were twenty in number, including the chief, who was conspicuous in the advance. All had led horses, so that they could change when the animals they rode became weary, which accounted for the rapidity with which they had followed in pursuit.

On they came, urged forward by the chief, uttering guttural exclamations as they forced their animals up the incline.

It must be said, to the credit of Fred Wilder, that he was unwilling to cause the death of any of the red-men whose hospitality he had lately shared, unless self-defense should compel him to do so. He hailed them, therefore, and ordered them to halt.

A parley ensued between him and Good Ax, by whom he was at once recognized. The chief demanded that Flora Robinette and White Shield should be given up, promising the white man that he would be allowed to go his way. Wilder declared that nothing of the kind should be done, adding that his red brother and the lady were far beyond pursuit. If the Blackfeet attempted to force the pass, he said, they would do it at the peril of their lives. As he did not wish to hurt them, he advised them to go home.

Good Ax was so enraged that he ordered an immediate attack. The Blackfeet led their horses down the slope, to be out of the way, and rushed up to the assault; but Wilder was ready for them.

Having arranged his bowlders for immediate use, he sent one of them whirling down the declivity, and followed it with another. The Indians, unable to escape the ponderous missiles that came bounding and thundering among them, screamed and yelled like demons, and all who were able to do so made a precipitate retreat.

Wilder took advantage of the pause that ensued, to again advise them to go home, assuring them that it went quite against his grain to harm his good friends, the Blackfeet. A volley of execrations was the only answer he received, and the Indians, unwilling to face the rolling stones, sought such cover as they could find, hoping to pick him off with their guns.

Safe behind his barricade, Wilder watched their proceedings very composedly, not deigning to reply to their fire unless they showed a disposition to approach him, when a well-directed shot from his rifle warned them to keep their distance.

Affairs continued in this condition for upward of half an hour, and the young man was beginning to wonder when there would be a change, when he was startled by a slight noise above him, and a piece of stone fell at his feet. Knowing that there must be some cause for such an effect, he looked up, and saw an Indian clinging to the side of the rock, and another making his way in the same direction. They had gone thus far unobserved; but the foremost had stepped on a narrow ledge, which had shaken under his weight, causing him to utter a slight exclamation.

Seeing the looseness of the ledge, Wilder pried it out from the main rock with his tomahawk, and it fell with a crash, dropping the Indian at his feet. It took Wilder but an instant to dispatch this foe with his tomahawk, and then, seizing his rifle, he shot down the other, who was still clinging helplessly to the face of the cliff.

The Blackfeet, who had counted on the attempt of their two braves to divert the attention of Wilder from their main attack, rushed fiercely up the defile, but soon found that he was not to be taken unawares. Rolling over two of his bowlders, he sent them crashing down among his assailants, sweeping them away at a serious loss of life and limb.

Then came another season of comparative quiet, which lasted until Wilder began to suspect that the Indians, or a portion of them, had gone around by the route which White Shield had spoken of, with the intention of getting in his rear. Reconnoitering as well as he could, he came to the conclusion that his suspicions were correct, and that it would be best for him to make his exit as speedily as possible.

Collecting more bowlders, he piled them up in front of him, jamming them in for the purpose of blocking up the defile as well as he could, and of concealing his movements from the enemy. As he would have several hours’ start of the Blackfeet who had gone around, he had nothing to fear but from those who might have been left in front to watch him. It would probably be some time, he calculated, before the latter would discover that he had evacuated the position. Then it would take them half an hour to get up the slope with their horses, and about as much longer to demolish his barricade. This would give him plenty of time to get out of the way.

He quietly led his horses down to the plain and broad trail, where he mounted and rode off at a gallop. He did not slacken his speed, except when he stopped to change from one horse to the other, as he was anxious to reach before night the peak which White Shield had pointed out to him. It was further off than he had supposed it to be, and it was dusk when he found himself at its base.

He was soon convinced that White Shield and Flora were not in the vicinity, and he found, after a little search, a split stick with an arrow stuck in it, pointing toward the south. They could not have got very far ahead of him, he thought, and he hoped that he might be able to overtake them where they had stopped to rest for the night.

He rode on; but he soon learned that following their trail was slow work to a man in the saddle, although the moon was shining. He then took his course by the stars, and rode south at a gallop, believing that he could not go far out of the way, and every minute expecting to overtake his friends.

He rode until the night was half gone, and the moon was down, without seeing a sign of a human being. Sure that he must have overtaken them if he was on the right track, and being greatly fatigued, he deemed it best to camp where he was for the night, and to hunt for the trail in the morning.

He tethered his horses, wrapped himself in his blanket, and laid down to sleep. Thoughts of his missing friends troubled him for a while; but they were soon swallowed up in a deep and dreamless slumber.