An ugly frown darkened the savage’s face—­a frown wherein was depicted a number of slumbering passions.

“The pale-face girl is the last survivor of a train that the warriors of Sitting Bull attacked in Red Canyon.  Sitting Bull lost many warriors; yon pale squaw shot down full a half-score before she could be captured; she belongs to the warriors of Sitting Bull, and not to the great chief himself.”

“Yet you have the power to free her—­to yield her up to me.  Consider, chief; are you not enough my friend that you can afford to give me the pale-face girl?  Surely, she has been tortured sufficiently to satisfy your braves’ thirst for vengeance.”

Sitting Bull was silent.

“What will the Scarlet Boy do with the fair maiden of his tribe?”

“Bear her to a place of safety, chief, and care for her until I can find her friends—­probably she has friends in the East.”

“It shall be as he says.  Sitting Bull will withdraw his braves and Scarlet Boy can have the red-man’s prize.”

A friendly hand-shake between the youth and the Sioux chieftain, a word from the latter to the grim painted warriors, and the next instant the glade was cleared of the savages.

Fearless Frank then hastened to approach the insensible captive, and, with a couple sweeps of his knife, cut the bonds that held her to the torture-stake.  Gently he laid her on the grass, and arranged about her half-nude form the garments Sitting Bull’s warriors had torn off, and soon he had the satisfaction of seeing her once more clothed properly.  It still remained for him to restore her to consciousness, and this promised to be no easy task, for she was in a dead swoon.  She was even more beautiful of face and figure than one would have imagined at a first glance.  Of a delicate blonde complexion, with pink-tinged cheeks, she made a very pretty picture, her face framed as it was in a wild disheveled cloud of auburn hair.

A hatful of cold water from a neighboring spring dashed into her upturned face; a continued chafing of the pure white soft hands; then there was a convulsive twitching of the features, a low moan, and the eyes opened and darted a glance of affright into the face of the Scarlet Boy.

“Fear not, miss;” and the youth gently supported her to a sitting posture.  “I am a friend, and your cruel captors have vamosed.  Lucky I came along just as I did, or it’s likely they’d have killed you.”

“Oh! sir, how can I ever thank you for rescuing me from those merciless fiends!” and the maiden gave him a grateful glance.  “They whipped me, terribly!”

“I know, lady—­all because you defended yourself in Red Canyon.”

“I suppose so:  but how did you find out so much, and, also, effect my release from the savages?”

Fearless Frank leaned up against the tree which had been used as the torture-stake, and related what is already known to the reader.