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“They’ll make it all safe. If the Indians were anywhere near us those mules of mine would have given warning by this time.”

The words were hardly dropped from his lips when from the other side of the house–from the stable at the corral–there came, harsh and loud and sudden, the discordant bray of mules. The three men started as if stung.

“Quick! Pete. Fetch me any one of the horses. I’ll gallop after him. Hear those mules? That means the Indians are close at hand!” And he sprang into the house for his revolvers, while Pete flew round to the stable.

It was not ten seconds before Farron reappeared at the front door. Pete came running out from the stable, leading an astonished horse by the snaffle. There was not even a blanket on the animal’s back, or time to put one there.

Farron was up and astride the horse in an instant, but before he could give a word of instruction to his men, there fell upon their ears a sound that appalled them,–the distant thunder of hundreds of bounding hoofs; the shrill, vengeful yells of a swarm of savage Indians; the crack! crack! of rifles; and, far down the trail along which Wells had ridden but a few moments before, they could see the flash of fire-arms.

“O God! save my little one!” was Farron’s agonized cry as he struck his heels to his horse’s ribs and went tearing down the valley in mad and desperate ride to the rescue.

Poor little Jessie! What hope to save her now?

CHAPTER VI.

A NIGHT OF PERIL.

For one moment the telegraph operator was stunned and inert. Then his native pluck and the never-say-die spirit of the young American came to his aid. He rose to his feet, seized his rifle, and ran out to join Phillips and the few men who were busily at work barricading the corral and throwing open the loop-holes in the log walls.

Ralph had disappeared, and no one knew whither he had gone until, just as the men were about to shut the heavy door of the stable, they heard his young voice ring cheerily out through the darkness,–

“Hold on there! Wait till Buford and I get out!”

“Where on earth are you going?” gasped Phillips, in great astonishment, as the boy appeared in the door-way, leading his pet, which was bridled and saddled.

“Going? Back to Lodge Pole, quick as I can, to bring up the cavalry.”

“Ralph,” said the soldier, “it will never do. Now that Wells is gone I feel responsible for you, and your father would never forgive me if anything befell you. We can’t let you go?”

Ralph’s eyes were snapping with excitement and his cheeks were flushed. It was a daring, it was a gallant, thought,–the idea of riding back all alone through a country that might be infested by savage foes; but it was the one chance.

Farron and Wells and the men might be able to hold out a few hours at the ranch up the valley, and keep the Indians far enough away to prevent their burning them out. Of course the ranch could not stand a long siege against Indian ingenuity, but six hours, or eight at the utmost, would be sufficient time in which to bring rescue to the inmates. By that time he could have an overwhelming force of cavalry in the valley, and all would be safe.

If word were not sent to them it would be noon to-morrow before the advance of the Fifth would reach the Chug. By that time all would be over with Farron.

Ralph’s brave young heart almost stopped beating as he thought of the hideous fate that awaited the occupants of the ranch unless help came to them. He felt that nothing but a light rider and a fast horse could carry the news in time. He knew that he was the lightest rider in the valley; that Buford was the fastest horse; that no man at the station knew all the “breaks” and ravines, the ridges and “swales” of the country better than he did.