IT was a long journey to the meeting-place which Winnetou had appointed, and when it was accomplished, after many weary days and nights, the hope of finding the chief at its end was not realized. But he had been able to send us a message about himself and his mission by an Apache scout, and that was some comfort.

Thus far Santer had eluded Winnetou successfully. The scoundrel had murdered the two traders whom we had met on our way to the Kiowa village, had taken their goods, and was now on his way to the northwest trading. Winnetou was sure that sooner or later he would fall into his hands. This was the message I received from him, with a reminder of my promise to return to him soon, and with it came a present of a horse that would have made Pegasus preen his wings in jealous fear of being considered an inferior animal. He was called Swallow, so fleet was he, and during the long ride through Louisiana to the point where I took the boat for St. Louis, we learned to know and love each other. Sam, Dick and Will left me here, returning to the prairie and the wild life which was their choice, and I went on alone.

I stayed in St. Louis only long enough to turn over my measurements for the railroad, and to fit myself out with some much needed clothing, and a new Henry rifle,

and then Swallow and I started again for the West in search of new adventures, and to rejoin our Apache friend. I was to meet him not far from a town called New Venango in the Wyoming oil region. I had ridden all day, and both Swallow and his master were tired, and longed for the first glimpse of the little town where we were to rest for the night, when the horse raised his drooping head suddenly, and sniffed the air in a way that showed that strangers were near by. He was right. At some distance from us I saw two figures, one a man's, the other that of a boy of about fourteen, dressed in full trapper regalia; both were mounted.

As I came up with them the lad waved his riding whip, and cried in a fresh, cheery young treble: "Good day, sir. What were you looking for so hard just now?"

"For a town, my bold trapper, and it's harder to find than prairie dogs."

"That's because the only one about here is over behind that bluff."

"The only prairie dog?"

"No; the only town. It's New Venango. Is that the one you're looking for?"

"Yes."

"Then come along with us. This is the man I'm staying with. His name's Foster, and he keeps the store and hotel at New Venango."

"The store; then New Venango can't be crowded with business blocks."

"It's got enough," returned the youngster, with touchy pride in the youthful city. "New Venango is going to be the biggest city in the West some day."

"I've no doubt. There are more embryo 'biggest cities' in the West than there are Washington head-

quarters houses in the East. However, I'll be glad to go with you to this one, and rest under your friend's hospitable roof."

Foster growled out some inarticulate reply; he struck me as a villainous-looking piece of humanity, but I liked the boy at once, though anything more patronizing and self-possessed than his manner would be hard to imagine.

"That isn't a bad horse you've got there," he said, looking at Swallow with the eye of a judge of horse flesh." Is he for sale?"

"Not at any price. He has taken me through many dangers, and I owe him my life more than once."

"He has had Indian training," he said next, to my surprise." Where did you get him?"

"From a friend of mine, Winnetou, the Apache chief."

He looked at me in surprise. "He's the greatest Indian in the world. You don't look --" He stopped.

"Well?" I prompted.

"Oh, I don't know; I thought you were a surveyor, or naturalist, or something like that. Are you Winnetou's friend, honest?"

"Honest Injun," I said laughing.

"You've good shooting irons too," continued my critical comrade. "What do you think of this pistol?"

He drew out of his saddle pocket a rusty old affair, and holding it up triumphantly said: "It dates from Anno Pocahontas, but it's all right."

He dropped behind me, and in a moment I felt a jar of my hat, and saw the sunflower I had picked from the golden carpet of the prairie and stuck in my hat-band fall shattered at Swallow's feet.

"Not so bad," I said coolly, inwardly wondering what to think of the interesting youngster. I looked at him as he rode half a horse's length ahead of me, and the setting sun bathed him in its golden light. He was 'brown and beautiful' as the Holy Writ tells us the young David was, and his peculiar features had an expression of strength, in spite of their youthful softness, while every movement spoke of self-reliance and determination which prevented me treating him as a child.

"Are you an American?" I asked at last.

"More American than you are, for my mother was an Indian of the tribe of the Mascalero-Apaches."

This explained the sharp-cut features, and the depth of his coloring. He said his mother was dead, but that his father still lived. I dared ask no more questions, though they were not prompted by mere curiosity. I wanted very much to know more about the mother, who was of the same tribe as Winnetou -- my tribe by adoption.

"Do you see that smoke that looks as though it came out of the ground?" the boy asked, pointing ahead with his whip.

"Ah, then we are at the bluff at last, and that is New Venango in the hollow?" I said." Neither Swallow nor I am sorry."

We paused a moment to look down at the valley, encircled by rocks, in the midst of which flowed a little stream, seeking its outlet through the stone. All the ground before us seemed to be covered with contrivances for drawing out the oil; close to the stream stood a drill in full blast, mid-way in the valley was a refinery, and all about were tubs, casks and tanks for the crude oil.

"Yes, that is the bluff," said Harry, as his silent companion had once called the boy. "Over yonder is the store, restaurant, hotel and everything in one, and this is the way down; it's rather steep. We'll have to dismount."

I did so, and Harry added: "Get your horse by the bridle; you must lead him."

"Swallow will come of his own accord," I replied, and we descended to the valley, remounted, and rode to the hotel, restaurant, store, notary's and justice's office, undertaker's, carpenter's, to all of which one and the same door admitted.

As we dismounted, this "concentrated inhabitant," as Mark Twain called a similar worthy, took Swallow by the bridle." I want to buy this horse," he said." How much do you want for him?"

"He's not for sale."

"I'll give you two hundred."

I laughed, and shook my head.

"Three hundred." "Don't bother about price, sir. He's not for sale," I repeated.

"Three hundred, and whatever you want out of the store."

"Do you really think I'd sell that horse unless I were forced to?"

"I'll throw in mine. I must have him; I like him."

"I believe that, but you can't have him; you're too poor to buy him."

"Too poor!" He gave me a contemptuous look. "I own half these oil wells. I am able to buy thus and such horses."

"Maybe you could buy a thousand, but you can't buy

this one. If you want a horse, go to a dealer, but take your hand off mine."

"Look here! You're tramping round the country; you ought to be glad to get money honestly."

"Keep a civil tongue in your head. If you had to deal with most Westerners you'd be paid in powder and shot for that remark."

"I'd have you understand, young man, that you can't come do any of your prairie business here. I am the law in New Venango, and if any one doesn't do as I wish willingly, he does it anyhow. Now shall I have the horse or not?"

"No," I answered. "Take your hand away."

I reached out for the bridle, he pushed me back, and swung himself into the saddle." I'll show you whether I'll buy a horse or not if I take the notion. There is mine; you may have him. Take what you want out of the store, and you shall have your money when you want it. Come, Harry."

He rode on Swallow around the house, and out of sight.

Harry loitered a moment to ask: "Do you know what a coyote is?"

"Yes," I replied. "He's a frightened beast that runs when a dog barks."

"Well, you're a coyote." With an indescribable, contemptuous wave of the hand he followed the "law" of New Venango.

I took it calmly, for I knew my plans, and that I had not lost Swallow. I went into the hotel, not the store; that is, I turned to the right instead of to the left in the narrow passage, and ate a hearty supper, albeit the cook could hardly have served as chef at Delmonico's.

When the evening was well advanced, and darkness had fallen over the valley, I went out to look up Swallow. I knew no stranger could unsaddle him, and put him in a stall, so I felt pretty sure I should find him supping out of doors. I had learned that Foster lived about a quarter of a mile from his concentrated place of business. My way was along the river, and I noticed something that I had been too much occupied with my young companion to see when I arrived, and this was that the oil smoke which filled the entire valley, was thicker by the river. The stream must carry with it then a considerable quantity of crude oil. There was a light on the verandah of the rambling building which was Foster's house, and I concluded that he was enjoying his evening pipe in the pleasant warmth of the late spring evening. I came up quietly in the shadow. As I reached the fence that enclosed the place I heard a soft sniffing of the air, and I knew that Swallow was in the yard, trying to make sure that his master was r eally coming.

I vaulted the fence in the friendly shadow of a tree, and heard Harry, who lay in a hammock, saying: "I think it's a queer scheme, Mr. Foster. It won't work, I believe."

"What do you know of such things? You are a boy. The price of oil is so low because the market is glutted. If we keep back our oil for a month it will bring up prices. I'll let it flow into the river till the price rises, then I'll set things going again, send my tanks East, and make a hundred thousand easy."

"Well, it doesn't seem square to me," remarked Harry. "And I wouldn't do it."

Foster was about to explain his plans further, evi-

dently more to satisfy himself than to inform the boy, when there came a thundering crash as though the earth had burst under us. The ground trembled, and as I turned in alarm; I saw in the lower part of the valley where the drill was still at work, a glowing stream of fire, fully fifty feet high, shoot up, sink to earth, and with the utmost rapidity overflow the low land. At the same moment a thick, greasy smoke filled the air, and the atmosphere seamed charged with fire.

I recognized the phenomenon, for I had seen it in all its terror in the Kanawha valley, and I sprang out before the horror-stricken people who had rushed from every door.

"Put out the lights," I shouted." Quick, put out the lights. The drill has struck oil, and you have neglected to forbid lights near it. The gas is escaping, and has ignited. Put out the lights, or in two minutes the whole valley will burn."

I sprang into the house to turn off the different gadgets, but a lamp burned in an inner room, and I saw lights glimmering down by the store. The spurting oil which had spread with incredible speed over the whole valley had reached the river now, and there was only question of escaping with life.

"Save yourselves!" I cried. "Fly, fly, in heaven's name. Try for the-hills."

Without waiting to see the fate of any one I snatched Harry up, and the next moment was in the saddle with him in my arms. Harry, misunderstanding my action, and not knowing the extent of the danger, resisted me with all his might, but in such a moment a man possesses strength beyond nature, and Harry's struggles died out in the grasp with which I held him. Swallow,

whose instinct made the guidance of bit and the urging of spur superfluous, bore us away like the wind. We could not get to the mountain path by which we had entered New Venango, for it was submerged in the fiery stream. We could only find deliverance down the river, but I had not seen anything like a street in that direction, and thought, on the contrary, that the cliffs were so close together that only the river could get through them.

"Is there any way out?" I cried in anguish.

"No, no," Harry gasped, with convulsive efforts to get away. "Let me go, I tell you, let me go. I don't need your help. I can take care of myself."

Of course I paid no attention to this, but scanned the horizon for a way out. I felt a prick in my throat, and the boy cried: "What do you want with me? Let me go, or I'll stick your own knife in you." I saw a blade flash in his hand; he had drawn my knife. I had no time for a long contest; I caught both his wrists in my right hand, while I held him fast with my left arm.

The danger increased with each second. The burning stream had reached the refineries, and the tanks burst with a cannon-like explosion, and poured their contents into the sea of fire, increasing it, and making it flow faster every instant. The atmosphere was hot to suffocation; I felt as though I were boiling in a tank of seething water, and scorched inside. I almost lost consciousness, but not quite, for not only was my life at stake, but the boy's.

"Come, Swallow; come, good Swall--" The fearful heat burned my mouth; I could no longer speak. But it was not necessary; the brave, splendid beast rushed

on with incredible speed. I saw one thing; there was no way out on this side the stream. So into the water, into the water, over to the other side. A light touch on the bridle, a spring of the obedient horse, and the waters closed over us. I felt new life, new strength pulsing through my veins, but Swallow had disappeared. Never mind; only over, over!

Swallow had been faster than the fire, but now it came, flaming as high as the black heavens, leaping down the river, and finding ever new food in the petroleum on its waters. In a moment, in a second, it must reach me. The now unconscious boy hung to me with a death-like grasp. I swam as never before, or rather I did not swim, I leaped through the seething water. I felt frightful pain, so frightful that I wondered whether it was death. Then came a hot breath at my side. Swallow, you blessed, you true horse, is it you? Here is the shore -- again in the saddle -- I cannot -- my marrow is withering away -- Lord, God help -- I can't lie here -- once more. Try! Ah! I am up! Swallow, go on, go -- where you like, only away, away from this lake of hell. We were going, I knew only that; where I did not ask. My eyes lay like melted iron in their sockets, and the light was burning my brain; my tongue hung from between my dry lips, my body felt as though it were a burning tinder, whose ashes might at any moment fall apart. The horse under me panted and groaned with almost human agony; he leaped, he jumped; he shot over crags, clefts, ledges, peaks with feline, sinuous motions. I had clasped his neck with my right arm, while the left still held the boy fast. One more spring, one long, frightful spring -- at last, at last

the precipice is crossed, a few feet further and we were in the prairie, and Swallow stood still.

I sank to the ground, overcome by the reaction from the long strain of nerve and muscle. I raised myself slowly, threw both arms around the neck of the faithful, incomparable beast, who was trembling in every limb, and kissed him with convulsive sobs, and a fervor beyond words. "Thank you, Swallow; my blessed, blessed Swallow. You have saved me; you have saved us both. I'll never forget this hour."

The heavens glowed blood red, and the vapors from the freed elements hung in thick black masses, streaked with purple, over the ruined hearths. But I had no time to look at this, for Harry lay before me, white, cold, and stiff, the knife still clasped in his hand. I thought him dead, that he had drowned in the river when I would rescue him from the flames. His clothing was wet, and clung to his lifeless limbs, and the sullen reflection of the flames beyond the edge of the plain played on his blanched face. I took him in my arms, pushed back his hair from his forehead, rubbed his temples, put my lips to his mouth to breathe life into his motionless chest; in short, did all that in my own condition I could do to call him back to life. At last a quiver passed over his body, and I felt the beating of his heart, the flutter of returning breath. He opened his eyes wide, and stared about with an expression of fear and wonder. Then his gaze became conscious, and he started up with a loud cry. "Where am I? W ho are you? What has happened?"

"You are saved from the flames below us."

With the sound of my voice, and the flash of a flame

darting higher than the others, full consciousness returned to him.

"Saved? Flames? Oh, good heavens, is it true the valley is burned?" He raised his arm threateningly. "You're a coward," he said." A mean coward, a coyote, as I told you before. You could have saved them all, but you ran like a sneaking cur. I despise you. I must go back to them."

He started away; I took his hand to detain him." Stay here," I said. "There is nothing more to be done for them."

"Let me alone. I won't stay with a coward." He snatched his hand away, and ran off. I felt something between my fingers. It was a ring which he had pulled off as he broke away. I followed him, but he was soon lost in the shadow of the cliffs.

I could not be angry with the boy; he was only a boy still, and the tragedy had so horrified him that he could not judge fairly. I slipped the ring on my little finger, and went back to take the rest I so sorely needed. An my nerves still quivered, and the valley in which the petroleum was yet burning seemed to me like the infernal regions from which I had escaped. Swallow lay close to me; there was grass around us, but he did not eat; the brave beast was as overcome as I was, or even more so.

What had become of the inhabitants of the valley? The question kept me awake; I longed to forget for a moment the horrors of that night, but sleep would not come. So I watched till morning, and all night long the awful fire leaped in a fountain of flame toward heaven, and so it would burn while the oil still came up through the opening the drill had made.

Daylight modified the intensity of the glow, but as the sun came up I saw that with the exception of one little house on the side of the hill where the fire could not reach, everything had been destroyed. Before the solitary little building that had escaped destruction, stood some men, and I saw that Harry was with them. The venturesome boy had dared go back during the night. It was easy enough to go now by daylight, but the risk he had taken then, exhausted as he was too, was frightful to think of.

The path by which I had come the day before had reappeared, and I rose to follow it. I saw Harry pointing to me, and one of the men went into the house, and returned in a moment with a gun. He came to the river bank to await me, and when I had got within speaking distance called out: "Hallo you! What are you doing here? Get out, if you don't want a bullet between your ribs."

"I came to see if I could help you," I answered.

"I know," he sneered. "A man appreciates such help as yours."

"Besides, I want to speak to the boy Harry," I added. "I have something to give him."

"Oh, get out with you! We know what such a fellow as you would give him. First you're cowardly and hard-hearted, and then you set fire to the oil out of revenge."

For a moment I could not speak. He must have taken my silence as a sign of a guilty conscience, for he continued: "So! How surprised you are! Yes, we know mighty well what you are. If you don't get out this minute you'll never be able to go."

He pointed his gun at me, but I found my tongue,

and cried angrily: "Are you crazy, man? There is no question of the oil being set afire. It was ignited by your own lamps; the horrible accident was the result of your own carelessness."

"I know, I know. Will you go, or shall I shoot?" he said.

"Would I have saved the boy at the risk of my life if I had been such a villain?" I asked.

"Humbug! If you had not run away, and had so chosen, you could have saved everybody, and now they are all burned -- dead. Here's your pay." He fired at me as he spoke.

I was too indignant to move; I stood perfectly still, which was fortunate, for his aim was bad, and I escaped. Instinctively my finger sought my trigger for a return shot, but of course I did not pull it. I turned around, slowly ascending the path without looking back. If instead of receiving gratitude for saving Harry I was to be treated like a criminal, there was nothing left to do but shake the dust of what had been New Venango from my feet. Once more I mounted Swallow, and rode away from a scene which has ever been to me like a horrible nightmare.