"Then, to my surprise I saw some one making all sorts of figures in the darkness with what seemed to be a torch. I used to belong to the Boy Scout troop of Logan, you see, and for a little while I even manipulated the telegraph key in the railroad station a few miles out of there, on the Oregon Southern Railroad; so that I soon saw he was practicing the Morse code. And then a wild desire came over me to get in touch with you. What I did, you all know; and I'm the happiest fellow in the whole Rocky Mountains to think that I've found friends up here, friends who say they'll stand back of me, and help me win out in my fight for my father's mine."

There were tears in Aleck Rawson's blue eyes as he said this last, and somehow every one of the scouts was deeply affected. It does not take much to arouse the boyish spirit of enthusiasm as a rule; and what they had already seen and heard of young Aleck Rawson, made the members of the Silver Fox Patrol ready to enlist heart and soul in his cause.

"There are nine of us here," said Thad, quietly, but with a firmness that thrilled the newcomer in the camp; "it's true that all but one of us are boys; but then we've got guns, and can use them too, if we have to. And let me tell you, Aleck, we're the kind of friends that stick.

We've heard a lot about this hidden mine that your father discovered, and believe that it ought to belong to your mother, and no one else.

This old rascal of a Kracker is a regular pirate, a land shark that ought to be tied up to a stake, and tarred and feathered, for the way he persecuted you, just because you refused to give away your secret, which means everything to your folks. And Aleck, we're going to stand by you through thick and thin! We've met up with you in about the queerest way ever heard of; and after getting you off that ledge up there, don't think we want to call it quits. You're a scout, a fellow scout in trouble; and we wouldn't deserve the name we bear if we didn't promise to back you up to the limit. How about it, boys?"

"That's the talk!" declared Giraffe, with great vim.

"He can count on us, every time," said Step Hen.

And so it went the entire rounds of the little circle, every boy echoing the sentiments that had made Thad, as the patrol leader, promise the hara.s.sed lad all the a.s.sistance that lay in their power.

After that the camp quieted down, and the boys went about their ordinary pursuits. Davy was fiddling with his little camera, the fever growing stronger in his veins with each pa.s.sing day. Indeed, where some of his chums talked of shooting Rocky Mountain sheep, grizzlies, timber wolves, panthers and the like, the Jones boy could be heard expressing his opinion that "shooting" the same in their native haunts with a snapshot camera, was more to his taste.

And there was Step Hen, as usual, loudly bemoaning the loss of something that he just felt sure he had had only five minutes before, but which was now gone as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed it up.

"'Taint as though it was the first time, either," he was saying, in a grumbling tone, as of one deeply injured, while he eyed his chums suspiciously; "it's always _my_ stuff that's bein' so mysteriously moved about, so that I never know where to put my hand on the same.

Now, I reckon more'n a few of you saw my service hat on my head just a little while ago; but tell me where it is now, will you? If one of you s.n.a.t.c.hed it off in your slick way, and is just hiding the same, let me notify you right now it's a mean joke. Thad, can _you_ tell me where my hat is?"

Having the question thus put directly at him, the patrol leader felt compelled to make a reply.

"Well, Step Hen," he said, slowly and convincingly, "I can't exactly do that, but I think I might give a pretty good guess, knowing you so well. Just five minutes ago you showed up, after having gone to get a drink at the little stream that runs through here. There's a regular place where we bend down to drink; and I can just see you taking off that campaign hat of yours, laying it nicely on the bank, getting your fill of water; and then deliberately coming back to camp, leaving your hat there; and then you kick up the greatest racket because you suddenly notice it isn't on your head!"

Some of the other boys clapped their hands, while Step Hen looked foolish at the well-merited rebuke.

"Mebbe you're right that time, Thad," he said, meekly, as, turning, he strode from the briskly burning fire, heading toward the good spot alongside the little stream, where they knelt to drink.

It was perhaps half a minute afterwards when he was heard to give a screech that brought every scout instantly to his feet, jumping for their guns, when they caught the meaning of his words:

"I've got him!" yelled Step Hen, at the top of his voice; "I'm holding him, all right! But come and give me a hand, somebody, or he'll get away! Injuns! Injuns!"

No wonder that excitement filled the camp of the Silver Fox Patrol!

CHAPTER VII.

STEP HEN MAKES A CAPTURE.

"Wow! it's a regular attack! Keep hold of your guns, boys, and make every bullet count!" whooped the excited Giraffe.

"Don't anybody fire a single shot without orders!" roared Thad, who could never tell what such a fly-up-the-creek as Giraffe was capable of doing, once he got started.

The guide led the way toward the spot where Step Hen still continued to shout and entreat. All of the boys had seen fit to arm themselves.

Even Smithy, who had no gun, had seized upon the camp hatchet, and imagined himself looking exceedingly warlike as he trotted along in the wake of his comrades, making violent pa.s.ses in the air, as though cutting down imaginary enemies by the score.

They thus came upon Step Hen; and sure enough he was clinging to the back of an Indian, both arms being twisted desperately around the latter's dusky neck in a way that threatened to choke the other. Step Hen may never have read about the way the Old Man of the Sea clung to Sinbad the Sailor, using both arms and legs to maintain his hold; but Thad thought, when he had his first glimpse of the picture, that at any rate the scout was a good sticker.

But then the Indian did not seem to be doing anything on his part to ward off the attack; indeed, he was standing there, bearing his burden with that stoical indifference peculiar to his race. There was no smile on his sober face that Thad could see; but he imagined that the Indian must surely appreciate the ridiculous nature of the situation.

"All right, Step Hen," Thad called out, when he could make himself heard above the tremendous racket the other was putting up; "we're here to save you, guns and all. You can let go your grip, Step Hen!"

"But you won't let him get away, will you, Thad?" pleaded the other, earnestly. "He's my Injun, don't you know; I captured him all by myself. I just bet you now he was meanin' to hook my hat, that's what brought him to the creek; but I jumped on him, and took him by surprise. Surround him, fellers, while I let him loose. My! but he's a tricky one, I tell you; pretended never to fight back a bit; but he was only watching for his chance. He didn't know who had hold of him, and that I was on to his game, all right."

"Stop talking, and let him go; you're half choking him, Step Hen!"

ordered the patrol leader.

And knowing that Thad meant business when he used his official tones, Step Hen suddenly released his clutch, and jumped back, just as if he really expected his late captive to whirl and attack him.

But nothing of the kind occurred. In fact, the Indian continued to show the utmost indifference to the fact that a ring of eager faces surrounded him; and that guns of various makes and kinds were thrust out at him, until the circle seemed to fairly bristle with a warlike atmosphere.

Thad saw the Indian raise his right hand, holding the palm toward them, and keeping the thumb flat at the same time.

"That's the peace sign!" muttered Toby Smathers; "he ain't lookin' for trouble, I reckons, boys."

"Huh! he better not," grunted Giraffe, who had been amusing himself meanwhile in raising and lowering the hammer of his heavy rifle, as though he must have something going in order to work off his nervousness. "Why, we could eat him alive, and then not half try. Ten to one is mighty heavy odds, let me tell you. And no wonder he holds out the white flag. It's easy to surrender when you ain't got a show.

But I'd go slow about trusting him, Thad; these here Injuns, I've heard, are a treacherous lot, take 'em as a whole."

"Keep still, Giraffe!" said the scoutmaster, sternly; "let me do the talking," and the tall scout became mute, for the time being at least; though it was hard to keep him any length of time in that condition.

Thad had already made a discovery. The moonlight fell upon the Indian, who now stood there with his arms folded, his whole att.i.tude one of studied indifference; and it struck the patrol leader that there was something very familiar about him.

"Allan, isn't he the young brave we saw hovering around our camp before, and who wouldn't stop to be questioned?" he asked, turning to the Maine boy.

"I was just thinking of that myself when you spoke, Thad," came the ready answer.

"I wonder, now, why he keeps on hanging after us," the scoutmaster remarked. "And I'm going to ask him first of all."

With that he turned to the prisoner, and went on to say:

"Can you understand; do you know what I am saying?"

"Yes, can speak same, all right," came the answer, in pretty fair English.

"Well, we want to know why you are hanging about our camp so much.

Once before we saw you, and tried to talk with you, but you moved off.

Now, away up here in the mountains you come again, sneaking around, and taking chances of being shot for a prowling wolf. Tell us why you do this? I don't believe you meant to steal anything because you've made no attempt to creep into the camp; but we want to know just why you hang around this way."

"Make come back more two, three times, look at teepee, see fine picture there. Never see like before. Much good! Ugh! P'raps sell same, bimeby, when go back!"

"What under the sun does he mean by that talk, Thad? Sure we ain't in the picture selling business, even if I am taking some dandy snapshots. I wonder, now, has he seen me at work; does he think I'm a traveling photograph man, and wants me to strike him off, in his warpaint and feathers?"

Davy Jones managed to say all of this, but no one was paying much attention to his remarks.

"Tell you what, fellers," broke in the irrepressible Giraffe, just then; "he's taken a shine to our tents, and wants to buy one when we're done with 'em. Knows a good thing when he sees it, he does.