The matter had now gone so far that it could not be kept from Dakota Joe.  He had spent money and pulled all the wires he could at the reservation to keep “Dead-Shot” Wonota in his employ.  At first he did not realize that any outside agency was at work against him and for die girl’s benefit.

Ruth and her friends drove to a distant town to see the Indian girl when the Wild West Show played for two days.  They attended the matinee and saw Wonota between the two performances and had dinner with her at the local hotel.  After dinner they all went to an attorney’s office, where the papers in the case were ready, and Wonota signed her new contract and Helen and Jennie were two of the witnesses thereto.  Mr. Hammond could not be present, but he had trusted to Ruth’s good sense and business acumen.

In a week—­giving Dakota Joe due notice—­the old contract would be dead and Wonota would be at liberty under permission from the Indian Agent to leave the show.  As Helen stopped the car before the torch-lighted entrance to the show for Wonota to step out, Dakota Joe strode out to the side of the road.  He was scowling viciously.

“What’s the matter with you, Wonota?” he demanded.  “You trying to queer the show?  You ain’t got no more’n enough time to dress for your act.  Get on in there, like I tell you.”

Instead of propitiating Ruth now, he showed her the ugly side of his character.

“I guess you been playin’ two-faced, ain’t you, ma’am?” he growled as Wonota fled toward the dressing tent “I thought you was a friend of mine.  But I believe you been cuttin’ the sand right out from under my feet.  Ain’t you?”

“I do not know what you mean, Mr. Fenbrook,” said Ruth sharply.

“You’re Ruth Fielding, ain’t you?” he demanded.

“Yes.  That is my name.”

“So they tell me,” growled Dakota Joe.  “And you are coupled up with this Hammond feller that they tell me has put in a bid for Wonota over and above what she’s wuth, and what I can pay.  Ain’t that so?”

“If you wish to discuss the matter with Mr. Hammond I will give you his address,” Ruth said with dignity.  “I am not prepared to discuss the matter with you, Mr. Fenbrook.”

“Is that so?” he snarled.  “Well, ma’am, whether you want to talk or don’t want to talk, things ain’t goin’ all your way.  No, ma’am!  I got some rights.  The courts will give me my rights to Wonota.  I’m her guardian, I am.  Her father, Totantora, is dead, and I’ll show you folks—­and that Injun agent—­just where you get off in this business!”

“Go on,” said Ruth to Helen, without answering the angry man.  But when the car had gone a little way along the road, the girl of the Red Mill exclaimed: 

“Dear me!  I fear that man will make trouble.  I—­I wish Tom were here.”

“Don’t say a word!” gasped Helen.  “But not only because he could handle this Western bully do I wish Tommy-boy was home and the war was over.”