the pike's peak limited prepared to follow.

"five thousand pilgrims! did you hear that? all coming along behind!" exclaimed terry, as he and harry "hooked" the now rested duke and jenny to the cart. "these are new ones. he didn't say anything about the other trails."

"we heard how they were, before we left," reminded harry. "and we saw a right smart smattering of folks at manhattan, remember. oh, i don't think we'll be lonesome."

"all you've got to do now is to follow the stage tracks," directed the station agent. "you'll come to stations every so often. but you'd best keep your water keg filled. there's no knowin' what'll happen on these plains."

"yes, sir," concurred his helper. "and keep your weather eye peeled for injuns. don't let 'em bamboozle you or if they don't take your scalps they'll steal you blind. when injuns come in, hang tight to your scatter-gun."

"haven't seen any, so far," remarked harry.

"no; but you can't tell. in my opinion that buff'lo stampede was caused by injuns—like as not that was why the buff'lo drifted down on you in the fust place. and if you hadn't got out when you did, in a hurry, you'd have had more trouble, plenty."

the stages had long since disappeared in the west, but the tracks were plain. tomorrow there would be other stages, and the next day others, and so on, had said the station men; and before the limited had even sighted the mountains some of these same stages would be met coming back. that made travel at a walk seem rather slow, especially when gold was waiting only to be found.

a second pair of stages passed them, with a swirl of dust and a cheer, late the next afternoon, but they found them spending the night at station thirteen, on the bank of another creek. here they also camped.

"twenty-five miles again," sighed harry, satisfied. "we'll get there."

duke and jenny had indeed footed sturdily. the hurrying stages seemed to be an inspiration to them. they felt that they, also, were now going somewhere.

the coaches had been full. there were two women, who slept in the station tent. the men passengers slept on the ground, under a canopy of gunny sacking stretched over stakes. for their own comfort the station employees were digging a cave in the side of an arroyo or dry wash, where they might house themselves and cook, in bad weather. could fight off the indians from it, too, they said.

the talk among the passengers was mainly of buffalo, indians and the other sights along the trail. the indians had been bothering the timid pilgrims considerably, with begging and stealing, but had not bothered the stages.

"we'll take no chances, though," declared the stage-driver. "never let an injun think you're afraid of him—that's the secret. once start to give in, and you're lost. most of these pilgrims never've had experience with the plains injuns. they try to please 'em and buy their good-will by giving 'em something for nothing, and the injuns don't understand. giving something for nothing isn't injun way. it amounts to being afraid. why, we passed at least half a dozen outfits who'd been so good to the injuns that they didn't have a critter left—every head driven off, some in broad daylight, and there the wagons were sitting. one wagon had said at first 'pike's peak or bust,' and now it said, 'busted, by thunder!'"

"must have been kiowas or cheyennes. the 'rapahoes aren't ranging so far east, are they?" suggested the station agent.

"oh, they're all ranging everywhere, now, following the buffalo and begging from the pilgrims," quoth the driver. "kiowas, cheyennes and 'rapahoes—they're in cahoots. but i hear tell that the main band of the 'rapahoes under old little raven are sticking 'round cherry creek, camped there on their winter grounds, along with the whites, instead of chasing the buffalo. it's easier."

the pike's peak limited pulled out early, bent on making time and not be overtaken by those five thousand rivals who were still coming. in about an hour and a half the stages passed at a gallop, while the drivers saluted with a flourish of whips. and the limited proceeded to plod after.

buffalo had become quite abundant. they were constantly in sight—large bunches and small; but duke seemed to have had his fill of rampaging, and paid little attention to his kin-people. however, as harry remarked, where there were buffalo, there likely were indians.

"if any do come in on us," he said, "i'll grab the gun and you tend to jenny. if there's one thing a mule hates worse than buffalo, it's injun—and jenny's powerful sensitive, poor thing."

"maybe we ought to mount guard tonight," proposed terry. "i'll sit up and then you sit up." mounting guard for fear of indian attack would be another fine story to tell to george stanton.

"not yet," decided harry. "we'll stake jenny in close, and she's awake all night anyway. at least, with her grunts and groans she sounds like it."

"i suppose shep would make a racket, too."

"w-well," mused harry, "i believe i'd rather trust to jenny's ears and nose than to shep's—there's more of them."

the buffalo before and on either side grazed peacefully; but about three o'clock that afternoon a commotion was evident behind. the buffalo were scampering, and afar on the trail appeared a little cloud of dust.

"can't be another stage already, can it?" questioned harry.

"injuns!" exclaimed terry. "but they wouldn't be raising dust, would they? or maybe they're chasing a stage!"

harry paled slightly.

"we'll soon see. but they won't get this outfit without a heap of trouble. we're going through to the diggin's."

however, it wasn't a stage. it was a light open wagon, drawn by two horses at a furious pace. anybody might have thought that the horses were running away, except for the fact that a man on the seat was using the whip.

"great snakes!" ejaculated harry. "we'll have to clear the track. gee, duke! jenny! gee! gee-up! whoa-oa!"

he turned out just in time. the on-comers were in a tearing hurry. the horses, red-nostriled, staring-eyed, lathered and dust-caked, looked like chariot racers in full career—two men were on the seat, one driving, the other plying the whip, and both constantly gazing backward. they wore visored caps and belted blouses and knee trousers—revolvers, knives, field-glasses; up and down in the wagon jolted a mass of camp stuff, and guns, and provisions. this much terry saw during the last minute in which the equipage arrived, dashed half-way past, and there was pulled short with a suddenness which set the two horses on their haunches.

"injuns!" cried the two men, over their shoulders. "cut loose for your lives!"

one was a blond, pinky-skinned man, the other was not so fair; but the faces of both were faded to a dead, dusty white by fear. their eyes were curiously poppy.

"where? how many?" demanded harry and terry, in the same breath.

"chasing us! five hundred of 'em! raiding the stage line! plundering the stations! killing the emigrants! burning the settlements! cut loose! ride for your lives!" answered the two men, in a sort of duet.

"five hundred are quite a parcel to be chasing two men," drawled harry. "where'll we ride to, and how?" mighty cool harry was, in the midst of alarm, thought terry. "all right," continued harry, briskly. "one of us'll get on this mule and you can take the other in your wagon and——"

"no, no! no room!" they protested. "we've a load. we can't wait. cut loose. you'll catch us. ride for your lives. how far to the next station?"

"'bout ten miles," drawled harry.

"gid-dap!" down swished the lash, forward sprang the horses. "there they come!" yelled both men. "we're all dead——" and away they tore again, leaning forward on the seat, shaking the lines and plying the whip, and constantly looking back up the trail.

"jiminy!" gasped terry. "they said five hundred. what are we to do? we can't fight off as many as that. you—you can have jenny," and he choked. "i'll ride duke. hurry!"

but harry appeared to be in no especial hurry. he scratched his long nose reflectively, and surveyed the trail behind.

"don't see 'em, do you?" he invited. "'five hundred of them'—'raiding the stage line'—'plundering the stations'—'killing the emigrants'—'burning the settlements'!" he was mimicking the two fugitives. "five hundred fiddlesticks! that's too many indians at one time. besides, there aren't any settlements 'round here to burn, except at the mountains, and those two lunatics haven't been to the mountains yet. and if we 'cut loose' and 'rode for our lives,' where'd we ride to? might better save our strength and dig a hole."

"don't you believe them, then?"

"no. you can't believe cowards. i don't blame them any for running away from five hundred indians, but it was right mean to run away from us. so i sized up that a husky outfit who'd leave a lame man and a boy to escape on a mule and a buffalo while they went ahead with a good team and wagon couldn't be depended on in talk or action either. why, they had guns enough there to fight a week! guess they were on a hunting trip across, and are nervous. g'lang, duke! jenny! let's keep going."

"there are indians coming, just the same," presently informed terry, who could not help but peep behind.

"two—three—five," pronounced harry. "they're the five hundred whittled down to fact. we needn't pay any attention to the four hundred and ninety-five others yet. you watch jenny, and shep and i'll watch these fellows."

the indians, five of them, were rapidly approaching at a lope, down the stage trail. when they were within two hundred yards harry, uttering a sudden "whoa!" fell back to the rear of the wagon and, grabbing the shot-gun, faced about, and raised his hand as sign for them to stay their distance. they slackened in a jiffy, but one rode ahead, to talk.

they were armed with bows and lances; half clothed in blankets and moccasins; appeared very dirty but seemed good-natured. the old fellow who rode ahead was a stout, grinning indian—chief, evidently, by the feather in his greasy hair.

"how?" he grunted, from his ambling spotted pony. "no shoot. 'rapaho. no hurt um white man. chase um. heap fun. see wagon men? heap fun."

"keep back," warned harry, over the barrel of the shot-gun. "no fun here. we don't run."

"there's thunder horse, harry!" hissed terry, who, guarding the team, had an eye also upon the indians.

the stout spokesman on the spotted pony was really quite good-looking; three of the others were not much worse; but the fifth in the squad was entirely different—his hair was cut short on the one side and left long on the other, instead of being in two braids, and his naturally ugly face was pitted with small-pox scars. his blanket was the dirtiest of all the blankets, his features the greasiest, his mouth the coarsest; and now as he also tried to smile, his blood-shot eyes glared fiercely.

thunder horse, the kiowa, he was, again: the outlaw indian whom terry had first encountered among the delawares on the emigrant trail into kansas, a year ago, and who had been an enemy ever since. he was a drunken rascal, was thunder horse; nothing seemed too mean for him to try. he even had stolen george and virgie stanton; but terry had helped them to get away.

terry recognized thunder horse—and thunder horse evidently had recognized terry, and shep, too. terry had pelted him with eggs, and shep had nipped him in the calf. so thunder horse smiled at harry and scowled at terry and shep.

"which one?" asked harry, aside. "the ugly one?"

"yes. look out for him. you'd better."

"all good. like um white boy. white boy give 'rapaho shoog, coff," wheedled the chief, advancing; and now another of the arapahoes rode forward.

"him little raven; big chief," he said, speaking english very clearly. "me left hand. little raven talk not much english. i talk for him. where you going?"

"to the mines, of course."

"you see two men in wagon?"

"yes."

"we no harm them. they run, then we yell and they run faster. little raven want to ask if you give him a little sugar and coffee."

"haven't any to spare."

"give him a little sugar, little coffee, little bread, and mebbe he show you where heap gold in the mountains."

"no, no," refused harry. "stand back, all of you," for the other indians were edging toward the wagon, from either side. jenny smelled them, and had grown restive—-trembled, snorted, and shep maintained a constant growling from underneath the wagon.

"all right." and left hand spoke gutturally for the information of little raven, who nodded. "brave boys. not foolish and run. good-bye."

little raven insisted on shaking hands with harry and with terry. "g'bye," he grunted. "heap boy. no run," when suddenly terry cried, past him, to a figure on horseback:

"get out o' there!"

during the leave-taking thunder horse had sidled in with the others, and pressing along the wagon, behind harry (who had considerable to watch with one pair of eyes and one gun), was stealthily thrusting his arm in under the edge of the canvas hood.

"get out o' there!" yelped terry.

harry turned hastily—but there was a snarl, a whoop, and back careened thunder horse, on his pony, with shep hanging to his moccasin. the moccasin and the foot within it, extending below the cart, and so convenient, had been too much for shep. besides, their owner was up to mischief! shep knew him of old.

thunder horse kicked vigorously—and while the other indians laughed and shouted, and shep held hard, shaking and worrying, he jerked his knife from somewhere—flung himself low and stabbed at his black shaggy tormentor.

"shep!" called terry, alarmed. "quit it! here!"

with a final dodge, shep tore the moccasin loose and carried it under the cart. glaring a moment at the cart, at terry, at harry, thunder horse, scowling blackly, rode on. the four arapahoes, laughing among themselves, followed. the way with which shep had astonished thunder horse amused them greatly.

the next noon, when the pike's peak limited passed the stage station, the agent hailed with the question:

"say! was it your dog that bit that kiowa in the foot?"

"yes. he'd tried to steal from the cart."

"well, served him right. 'twasn't much of a bite, but he had a powerful sore foot when he and those 'rapahoes went out this mornin'. they camped here all night."

"teeth scurcely broke the skin; but he's been so pizened with whiskey that any least scratch on him's liable to make a bad sore," added the agent's helper.

"did two men with a team and a wagon get here in a hurry, yesterday evening?" asked harry. "ahead of the indians?"

"yes, sir!" laughed the agent. "those hunter greenhorns, you mean, flying from a massacre? we calmed 'em down, let 'em hide in the tent, and told 'em if they'd stay behind the massacre it wouldn't catch 'em. so they waited until the massacre left, then they left."

for the next week and more the pike's peak limited kept hearing, from station to station, of thunder horse and his sore foot. his foot had swollen, his leg had swollen to the knee, it had swollen above the knee, it was still swelling—and he was very surly, and evidently in much pain, and drunk whenever he could obtain any liquor.

the hunters' wagon disappeared, between stations, as if on a short-cut to the republican; and soon thereafter the chief little raven squad, including the then much distressed thunder horse (whose leg, said the last agent, ought to be cut off), disappeared also.

the pike's peak limited plodded along. at some time every day a stage or two stages from leavenworth on the missouri river passed, usually full, but occasionally half empty. the valley of the republican was close before, and behind was pressing nearer the van of that great procession.

"they're beginning to raise a dust," remarked harry, gazing back.

"yes; but you can see a dust ahead, too," said terry. "hope we get there first."

that night the camp-fires of the leading outfits on the trail behind were plainly visible, winking through the darkness; and down in the broad republican valley scattered other camp-fires were winking.

"an early start for us in the morning, remember," enjoined harry.

it was almost noon when, just beating a faster-stepping team trying to overtake, the pike's peak limited, first pilgrim outfit through by the new stage route, filed into the well-trodden, dusty trail made now by stage and gold-seekers combined up the wide valley of the republican.

"hee-haw!" exulted jenny; but duke the half-buffalo only flirted his little tail at sight of the new company.