half a century before, leaving a rich black soil.  Clearly traced in this were the imprints of Minnetaki’s moccasins.  For a full minute Rod stopped and listened, making not a sound.  Why he maintained silence he could not have explained.  But he knew that he was half a mile from the Post, and that Wabi’s sister should not be here at breakfast time.  In this minute’s quiet he unconsciously studied the tracks in the ground.  How small the pretty Indian maiden’s feet were!  And he noticed, too, that her moccasins, unlike most moccasins, had a slight heel.

But in a moment more his inspection was cut short.  Was that a cry he heard far ahead?  His heart seemed to stop beating, his blood thrilled—­and in another instant he was running down the path like a deer.  Twenty rods beyond this point the path entered an opening in the forest made by a great fire, and half-way across this opening the youth saw a sight which chilled him to the marrow.  There was Minnetaki, her long hair tumbling loosely down her back, a cloth tied around her head—­and on either side an Indian dragging her swiftly toward the opposite forest!

For as long as he might have drawn three breaths Rod stood transfixed with horror.  Then his senses returned to him, and every muscle in his body seemed to bound with action.  For days he had been practising with his revolver and it was now in the holster at his side.  Should he use it?  Or might he hit Minnetaki?  At his feet he saw a club and snatching this up he sped across the opening, the soft earth holding the sound of his steps.  When he was a dozen feet behind the Indians Minnetaki stumbled in a sudden effort to free herself, and as one of her captors half turned to drag her to her feet he saw the enraged youth, club uplifted, bearing down upon them like a demon.  A terrific yell from Rod, a warning cry from the Indian, and the fray began.  With crushing force, the boy’s club fell upon the shoulder of the second Indian, and before he could recover from the delivery of this blow the youth was caught in a choking, deadly grip by the other from behind.

Freed by the sudden attack, Minnetaki tore away the cloth that bound her eyes and mouth.  As quick as a flash she took in the situation.  At her feet the wounded Indian was half rising, and upon the ground near him, struggling in close embrace, were Rod and the other.  She saw the Indian’s fatal grip upon her preserver’s throat, the whitening face and wide-open eyes, and with a great, sobbing cry she caught up the fallen club and brought it down with all her strength upon the redskin’s head.  Twice, three times the club rose and fell, and the grip on Rod’s throat relaxed.  A fourth time it rose, but this time was caught from behind, and a huge hand clutched the brave girl’s throat so that the cry on her lips died in a gasp.  But the relief gave Rod his opportunity.  With a tremendous effort he reached his pistol holster, drew out the gun, and pressed it close up against his assailant’s body.  There was a muffled report and with a shriek of agony the Indian pitched backward.  Hearing the shot and seeing the effect upon his comrade, the second Indian released his hold on Minnetaki and ran for the forest.  Rod, seeing Minnetaki fall in a sobbing, frightened heap, forgot all else but to run to her, smooth back her hair and comfort her with all of the assurances at his boyish command.