Without giving him a moment’s further notice, Bert started out over the desert at a swift run, guided by his almost instinctive sense of direction.  He ran quickly and lightly with the speed and silence of a wolf, and he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving when he realized that he was clear of the besiegers.

In a short time he reached the line of newly laid rails that marked one more stride of civilization into this far western country.  He scrambled up the steep embankment, and was not long in locating a telegraph pole.  He climbed this quickly and once securely seated in the crossbars made ready to send the message that meant life or death to himself and the little party back there by the over-turned stage coach, dependent on him for their very lives.

He drew from a pocket a pair of cutting pliers that he had secured from the coach’s toolbox, and donned a pair of thick leather gloves that he had borrowed from the driver.  With the pliers he severed the single telegraph wire, and grasped the two ends in his gloved fingers.

“Now,” he thought, “if there’s no current in the wire everything will have gone for nothing.  But if there is——­”

He brought the severed ends together, and was overjoyed to see a snapping little blue spark play about them.

“Great!” he shouted aloud, and then set himself to send the message.  He was an expert telegrapher and knew the Morse code as well as he knew his own name.  Of course, he had no means of telling whether or not anybody was receiving his sending, but had to go ahead on the chance that they were.

“Attacked by Indians,” he sent.  “Near stage-coach trail—­twenty miles east of Helena.  Send help, quick.”

He repeated this message again and again, until he felt sure that somebody must have received it.  Then he twisted the two ends of the wire together, and slid down the pole.

“Now to get back with Dick and Tom and the others,” he thought.  “It’s going to be no easy matter, either.  I have an idea it’s going to be harder to get in than it was to get out.”

He retraced his course with the utmost caution, until he judged that he must be nearing the Indian outposts.  Then he dropped at full length on the ground and commenced crawling forward at a snail’s pace, pausing every few yards to listen intently for any indication of danger.  At one time he heard a murmur of guttural voices at no great distance, and proceeded with redoubled caution until he left the sound behind.  Gradually he worked himself along until he knew he could be at no great distance from his friends.  The danger of being caught by the Indians now seemed to be passed, but Bert realized that it would never do to approach his party without giving warning of his coming, as the chances were they would take him for an enemy and shoot before he could make himself known to them.

For a time he was at a loss to think of some signal that would be recognized by those within the improvised fort, but at last had an inspiration.  Softly he whistled a bar of one of the old college songs.  There was no reply at first, but he repeated the refrain a little louder this time, and was overjoyed to hear the tune taken up by a whistle that he recognized as Tom’s.  He waited a few minutes, to give Tom time to warn the others of his coming, and then ran swiftly forward until he reached the inclosure.