"Uncle Bill, is there any danger?" she asked, fearfully gazing up
the slope.

"Lass, we're in the Wyoming hills, an' I wish to the Lord we was
out," he answered.

Then he picked up the deer carcass, a heavy burden, and slung it,
hoofs in front, over his shoulders.

"Let me carry your gun," said Allie.

They started toward camp.

"Lass, listen," began Horn, earnestly. "Mebbe there's no need to
fear. But I don't like Injun tracks. Not these days. Now I'm goin'
to scare this lazy outfit. Mebbe thet'll make them rustle. But don't
you be scared."

In camp the advent of fresh venison was hailed with satisfaction.

"Wal, I'll gamble the shot thet killed this meat was heerd by
Injuns," blurted out Horn, as he deposited his burden on the grass
and whipped out his hunting-knife. Then he glared at the outfit of
men he had come to despise.

"Horn, I reckon you 'pear more set up about Injuns than usual,"
remarked Jones.

"Fresh Sioux track right out thar along the brook."