“Yes.”

“Remember your instructions.  I may be able to handle both of them, but if I don’t get the missing one at the first crack I shan’t be able to take care of them both.  You’ll have to help me.  Got the nerve?”

“I’m not afraid,” whispered the boy steadily.  “And I’ve got some muscle as well.”

“That’s evident.  I’m off now.”

Tad was left alone.  This time he could feel the guide’s movements, as the latter slipped away on the soft earth.  But in a moment all sound was lost,

“I think I’ll crawl up nearer, so as to be handy if anything occurs,” decided the lad, creeping along on all fours.  He could not see the light in the camp now, but he reasoned that the man at the table was sitting with his back to it, as near as Tad could judge of direction in the dark.  The Indian seemed not to fear a surprise.

“That’s what comes from overconfidence,” grinned the lad.

“I wish I had something to defend myself with,” he added after a pause.

Tad had no sooner expressed his wish, than his fingers closed over some object on the ground.  He grasped it with about the same hopefulness that a dying man will grasp at a straw.

What he had found was a heavy tent stake, one that Kris Kringle had dropped from his bundle on the way to the cliff dweller’s home.

The lad breathed a prayer of thankfulness and crept on with renewed courage.

He proceeded as far as he dared; then, lay still, listening for the noise of the expected conflict between the guide and the other red man.

It came.  The sound was like that of a body falling heavily.

Once more the Indian at the table turned his head, listening inquiringly.  He made a half motion to rise, glanced at the table, then sat down again and began to eat.

“His appetite has overcome his judgment,” grinned Tad.  The lad could hear the faint sound of conflict somewhere to the rear of him.  He was getting uneasy and began to fidget.

All at once the red man sprang up, starting on a run, trailing Stacy’s rifle behind him.  He was headed directly for the place where Tad lay flattened on the ground, though the lad felt sure his enemy did not see him.

But when the Indian suddenly sprang up into the air to avoid stepping on the object that lay there, Tad knew that further secrecy was useless.  The redskin had jumped right over him, dropping Chunky’s rifle as he leaped.  The gun fell on the Pony Rider boy and for a second hindered his movements.

But Tad was up like a flash, while the Indian whirled no less quickly, knife unsheathed, ready for battle.

This was where Tad’s tent stake came in handy.  Without it he would have been in a much more serious fix.  It was bad enough as it was.

Without an instant’s hesitation the lad brought the stake down on the wrist of the hand that held the knife.  The knife fell to the ground, while the Indian, with a half-suppressed howl, sprang at the slender lad.  Though the fellow’s wrist was well-nigh useless at that moment, he was as full of fight as ever.