thirsty. And as Baker was absorbed with his heathenish rites, the river but a few yards away and no enemy in sight it seemed a simple matter to advance and fill a hat with water. Baker restored the medicine bag to the bosom of his hunting shirt and turned in time to behold Lander start for the river with a Blackfoot warrior dropping from the heavens to alight within a few feet of him. The long rawhide rope, dangling from the edge of the cliff, was immediately utilized by a second warrior.
"Trouble woke up!" yelled Baker, snatching up his rifle and shooting the warrior from the rope.
Clubbing his weapon he sprang to assist Lander, who by this time had drawn his knife from his boot. The Indian, although realizing he was lost unless instantly reinforced, leaped at Lander and attempted to run him through with a long butcher-knife.
"Load your rifle! I'll take care of this one," called out Lander, parrying the thrust.
Baker reversed his gun and proceeded to reload it, his eyes staring admiringly at the young man's unexpected display of talent.
"Rip him, boy!" he shouted. "Lawdy massy! But that medicine o' mine is shore kickin' an' a
