I WAS glad to turn my thoughts from the horrors I had just passed through, and the unpleasant ending of my brief acquaintance with Harry, to the fact that I was riding to meet Winnetou again. Our meeting place was only a day's ride from New Venango, but I had to wait there a whole week for Winnetou. At last he came, and I did not realize myself, impatient as I was for his coming, how glad I should be to see him, till I spied his lithe, straight figure on the horizon, and heard the cry with which he spurred his horse to meet me.

"My dear, dear brother Jack," he said with more emotion than I had thought one of his race could show, as he sprang from his horse, and laid his arms over my shoulders, looking eagerly into my eyes. "You have come to keep your promise. My heart rejoices like the morning when the night is past, and the sun appears."

"And I am as glad as the earth is glad when winter is over, and she feels the touch of spring," I said, taking both his hands, and pressing them joyfully. "Honestly, Winnetou, I knew I wanted to see you, but I did not realize how glad I'd be."

He caught his breath in a little laugh of pure happiness.

"Have you any trace of Santer?"

His face clouded. "He is everywhere; I have followed him in vain since I parted from my brother. Now

I have heard he is near here. But his fever for gold will bring him to Nugget Mountain; at last he will fall into my hands. I will take my brother to the dwelling place of Old Firehand, who is my good friend, and a renowned trapper and warrior."

I was very glad to learn this, for I had heard a great deal of this famous man, and was delighted at the prospect of seeing him.

We rode till the shadows were lengthening, and evening was beginning to close in, when we paused on an elevation which swelled up in the prairie like a wave in the midst of the ocean. I took out my field glass to look over the stretch of prairie thus brought into view, and had scarcely adjusted it when I saw a long, straight line stretching to the furthest western point the eye could see. I gave the glass to Winnetou, who looked through it with an admiring and wondering "Ugh." "Does my brother know what that long trail is?" I asked. "It is not the buffaloes', nor was it made by the feet of the red men."

"Yes, I know. It is the path of the fire-steed which we are looking at." He raised the glass again, and looked with great interest through this new device for lessening distance. Suddenly he lowered it, sprang from his horse, and hastily got behind the mound. Of course he had some good reason for doing so, and I imitated his action without asking why. "There are Indians over there by the fire-steed's path," he exclaimed. "They are hidden, but I saw their horses."

He was wise to withdraw from our observation post so quickly, for we should certainly have been seen. "What does my brother think is the design of these people?" I asked.

"They want to destroy the path of the fire-steed," Winnetou replied.

"That is what I think. Let me watch them." Taking the glass from Winnetou I crept carefully forward. Although I was sure they had no suspicion that we were near I kept under cover as far as possible, and got far enough toward them to count them as I lay on the ground. There were thirty, decked with war-paint, and armed with arrows as well as fire-arms. They had several extra horses, and from this I was sure they were after booty. I heard some one breathing softly behind me. Drawing my knife, I turned around: it was Winnetou "Ugh!" he exclaimed "My brother is very bold to come so far. They are Poncas, the most daring of the Sioux, and there is Paranoh, their white chief."

I looked at him in surprise. "Their white chief?" I echoed.

"Has my friend never heard of Paranoh, the fierce chief of Atabaskah? No one knows whence he came, but he is a mighty warrior, and was adopted by the red men in a council of the tribes. As the gray-haired men went to Manitou, he received the calumet of chieftainship, and has taken many scalps. Then he was beguiled by the wicked spirit, and treated his braves like slaves, and was cast out. Now he dwells in the councils of the Poncas, and will lead them to do great deeds. Winnetou has measured tomahawks with him, but this white man is full of knavery; he does not fight honorably."

"I see that he is a traitor. He will stop the fire-steed, and kill, and rob my brethren."

"The white men?" asked Winnetou, astonished. "He is of the same color. What will my brother do?"

"I will wait to see whether Paranoh destroys the fire-steed's path, and if he does I will ride to meet my brethren, and warn them."

The darkness grew deeper every moment, and made it more difficult to keep our eye on the enemy. As it was necessary to know exactly what the Indians were doing, I asked Winnetou to go back to the horses, and await me there while I spied on them. He agreed to this, but added: "If my brother is in danger let him imitate the cry of the prairie chicken, and I will come to his assistance." He went back and I crawled, lying flat on the ground, in the direction of the railroad, listening intently to every sound. It was a long time before I reached it, but at last I did get there, and with redoubled caution crawled to the other side of the place where I had seen the Poncas. When I was near them I could see that they were busy about something. There were large rocks all around this place, an unusual thing in the prairie, and that was the reason they selected it for carrying out their design. I heard them piling on the track rocks which must be very large and heavy, judging from the way the Indians puffed. There was not a moment to lose, and after I had crawled back for a short distance, I sprang up, and ran as fast as I could to where I had left Winnetou.

We laid our plans hastily, mounted, and went in a rapid trot along the track toward the east. A little moonlight would have been most acceptable, but the clear shimmer of the stars was enough to show us our way. A half an hour passed, and then another; there was no longer any danger for the approaching train if we could only succeed in attracting the engineer's attention. We let our horses walk, and rode on in silence.

At last we decided the time had come. We both dismounted, and fastened our horses securely. We gathered the dry grass into a heap, and twisting it into a sort of torch, peppered it with powder, and calmly waited events, listening intently in the darkness, and keeping our eyes in the direction where the train should appear.

At last, after what seemed a little eternity of waiting, the light glimmered far, far away, tiny at first, but gradually growing larger. Then we heard the rumble; the moment had come. I drew my revolver and fired into the bundle of dried grass, which quickly ignited. Swinging this improvised torch with one arm, I held up the other as a signal to stop. The engineer saw me, for the instant the torch was raised he whistled "down brakes," and the car wheels groaned, slackened, stood still.

Giving Winnetou a sign to follow me I ran before the locomotive, and holding up my coat which I had taken off for this purpose, before the headlight, I shouted: "Put out your lights."

Instantly the light was gone. The men on the Far Western roads have presence of mind, and are quick in action. Having obeyed my suggestion, the engineer called out from his cab: "Why are you covering our reflector, man? I hope there's nothing wrong beyond?"

"We must be in darkness," I replied." There are Indians up above who are waiting to wreck the train."

"You don't say! If that is so you're the bravest fellow that ever blessed this cursed region." And jumping out, he wrung my hand till it ached.

In a moment we were surrounded by the passengers:

" What is it? What's up? Why are we stopping?" echoed on every side. In a few words the situation was explained.

"We aren't many, passengers and all," said the engineer, "but we are well armed. Do you know how many Indians there are?"

"I counted thirty."

"Good! We'll do them up. But who's that man over there? By George! An Indian!" He drew and aimed at Winnetou, who had followed me, and stood half in shadow behind me.

"Hold on!" I cried. "He's my companion; he'd be glad to know the bold rider of the fire-steed."

"Oh, that's another thing. Call him over. What's his name?"

"He is Winnetou, the Apache chief."

"Winnetou!" he exclaimed loudly, and as he did so a man pushed forward through the group of passengers. "Is Winnetou here?" he asked.

He was a powerfully built man dressed like a trapper, and his tone was loud and cheery. He went over to Winnetou, and said with a ring of pleasure in his big voice: "Has Winnetou forgotten his friend's face and voice?"

"Ugh!" exclaimed Winnetou with equal pleasure. "How can Winnetou forget Old Firehand, the greatest of the white hunters, though he has not seen him for many moons?"

"Old Firehand, Old Firehand," rose on all sides, while every one crowded around to see the most renowned of the Indian fighters, to whom rumor attributed deeds of almost incredible daring.

"Old Firehand?" ejaculated the engineer. "Why

didn't you tell me who you were, man? I'd have seen you had the state-room."

"Thank you, I was all right. But we mustn't waste precious time. We must decide what we're going to do about these Indians. And are you Winnetou's friend?" he asked turning to me. "Then you can count me another. Here's my hand."

"Yes, he is my friend," said Winnetou. "My friend and brother. We have drunk one another's blood in the bond of brotherhood."

"Is that so?" exclaimed Old Firehand quickly, coming nearer me, and looking at me closely. "Then you must be --"

"Old Shatterhand," said Winnetou, finishing his sentence for him. "Beneath whose hand every foe falls to the ground."

"Old Shatterhand, Old Shatterhand," everybody cried, pressing around me, as they had around Old Firehand.

"You are Old Shatterhand?" cried the engineer delighted. "Old Firehand, Old Shatterhand, and Winnetou. What a lucky meeting. With the three most famous, and most invincible men in the West we are sure to succeed, and all is up with the Indians. You tell us what to do, and we will obey you."

"They are thirty red villains," said Old Firehand, "and we'll shoot them in a heap."

"They are men," I remarked.

"Beasts in the shape of men," he answered sternly." I have heard enough of you to know you are forbearing with these fellows, but I am of a different way of thinking. I suppose you realize they'd have killed every man on this train? If you'd suffered what I

have you'd look at things in a different light. And as to Paranoh, I have a reckoning with him which only blood can wipe out."

"How!" assented the usually quiet Winnetou. There must be some reason, I thought, for this strong feeling.

"You are quite right," said the engineer. "Forbearance in this case would be wrong. Tell us your plan."

"The train hands will stay with the cars. The passengers can come with us, if they like the adventure, and we'll teach these villains that it's not just the thing to wreck a train. We'll creep up to them in the darkness. As they have no idea we're near them the surprise will be as effectual as our weapons. As soon as we're through with them we'll signal with fire for the train to come on, only it must be slow, for we might not clear the track perfectly. Now, who will come?"

"I! I! I!" cried every voice.

"Then take your weapons, and come. We've no time to lose, for the Indians know the train is due, and if it doesn't show up they'll get suspicious."

We started, Winnetou and I ahead. The night was very still, and we had to be on the alert for the slightest rustle. The moon had arisen, and though it made it harder for us to conceal ourselves, it was an advantage in other ways. Occasionally we could see a figure appear on the horizon, over the mound where we had discovered the Poncas. They had stationed a sentinel there to watch for the train, but if he happened to turn his eye from the track he might easily discover us. After a few minutes we could see the others lying motionless on the ground. We moved up until we were

directly over against the murderous band, and lay ready, with guns cocked. The first thing was to disable the sentinel, an undertaking that few but Winnetou could carry out. The man could see the smallest thing in the moonlight, and it was so still he could hear the slightest motion, and even if these difficulties were overcome, it would be necessary to spring on him, when the others would be certain to see the attack. Nevertheless Winnetou willingly undertook to solve this difficult problem. He slid forward, and in a few minutes the watch seemed to sink into the earth, yet the next instant was standing erect again, in his full stature. This movement had taken only a moment, brief as a flash of lightning, yet I knew that in it Winnetou had pulled the sentinel down by his feet as he stabbed him, and had risen himself in his place. The sentinel was no longer the Ponca, but Winnetou.

This was one of this marvelous Indian's feats, and through it our greatest difficulty was over. We were ready now to attack, but before the signal to advance could be given a shot rattled behind me. One of our band had been careless enough to keep his finger on his trigger, and the revolver had gone off. We could not delay now, and sprang out on our foe. The Indians rushed for their horses with horrible yells. "Shoot the horses," cried Old Firehand, "and then forward."

Our shots rattled; the horses fell, and there was before us a tangled mass of horses, their riders trying to crawl from under them.

Old Firehand and Winnetou had thrown themselves in the snarl brandishing their tomahawks, while I kept the Indians at bay by shooting at the horses whenever a rider tried to get through his fallen comrades. When

I had used my last cartridge I laid aside my rifle, and gun, drew my tomahawk, and hastened to the side of Old Firehand and Winnetou. We three were the only ones who really fought the Poncas. I had strongly suspected the passengers from the train would not be much use, and it proved to be the case.

I spied Paranoh among the heap of Indians, and tried to get at him. Evading me, he got close to the Apache, tried to dodge again, but Winnetou sprang on him crying: "Paranoh! Will the Atabaskah dog fly before the chief of the Apaches? The earth's mouth shall drink his blood, and the vulture's claws shall tear his body, but his scalp shall hang at the belt of the Apache."

He threw away his tomahawk, drew his knife, and seized the white chief by the throat, but he was prevented from giving the fatal stroke. As he cast himself on the Ponca with this loud cry that was contrary to his custom, Old Firehand had glanced toward him, and seen his foe. In this rapid glance he had recognized the man he hated with all the bitterness of his Soul, and whom he had sought for seven years. "Tim Finnerty!" he cried, flinging aside the Indians like straw, and springing through them to Winnetou, whose hand, raised to strike, he seized. "Stop, brother; this man is mine."

Paranoh stood perfectly still as he heard his name called, but as soon as his eyes fell on Old Firehand he wrenched himself free from Winnetou's hand, and fled. Instantly I shook off the Indian with whom I had been fighting, and pursued him, for I knew he was Winnetou's deadly enemy, and the last moment had shown me Old Firehand had good cause to hate him. I heard

Winnetou say: "Let Old Firehand stay here. My young white brother will catch and kill the Atabaskah crow. He has the foot of the storm, and no one can escape him."

These words naturally spurred me to do my best. I was gaining on the fugitive, the distance between us was lessening, I could hear his panting breath. I had no other weapon than the empty revolver, and my bowie knife, which I drew. I had dropped my tomahawk, for it would hinder me in running. Paranoh sprang aside to let me pass him in my haste, intending to come on me from behind. I saw through this maneuver, and turned just as he did, so that we should collide, and thus my knife ran into him up to the hilt. The collision was so violent that we both fell, but he did not rise as I picked myself up, and I did not know whether he was fatally wounded or not. But he did not move a limb; I could not see that he breathed, and I drew out my knife. It was not the first enemy I had laid low, but this was one of my own race, and I found myself hoping he was not dead, though he so richly deserved to die. As I stood looking at him I heard a quick breath behind me. I turned sharply, but had nothing to fear ..It was Winnetou, who with loving unity had followed me, and now stood beside me.

"My brother is as quick as the arrow of the Apaches, and his knife goes true to its mark," he said as he looked at the form before us.

"Where is Old Firehand?" I asked.

"He is as strong as the bear in the time of the melting snow, but his foot is held by the hand of the years. Will not my brother take the scalp of the Atabaskah?"

"I leave that for my red friend," I replied. With

three cuts the scalp lock was severed from the head of the dead man. How bitter must have been the hatred of the humane Winnetou for this Finnerty!

I had withdrawn a little during this proceeding, which I could not bear to look upon, and I saw some dark forms coming toward us.

"There are six Poncas who seem to be looking for some one. Winnetou must hide, for unarmed as we are it would be foolhardy to let them see us," I said.

The Apache crawled backward, close to the ground, and I followed. The Indians paused when they came to the scene of my meeting with Paranoh, and uttered an "Ugh" of surprise at seeing a body lying there. But when they came up to him, recognized him, and saw that he had been scalped, they uttered a howl of rage.

That was a critical moment for us. We were in instant danger of discovery, so we resolved on a bold stroke. Leaping out we were on the horses' backs in a trice (the horses from which the Poncas had just dismounted) and dashed away at a mad gallop. It was funny to think of the blank faces which must look on our sight as they realized the trick that had been played them, and even the grave Winnetou could not help a laughing "Ugh" as he pictured their dismay.

We were anxious about Old Firehand, who might also have met a band of the Indians. Nor was this anxiety lessened when on our return to our comrades we found that he had not come back, although we had been gone so long.

"My brother, Old Firehand, has lost Paranoh's trail," said Winnetou, "and may be attacked by his enemies. I will go with Old Shatterhand to look for him."

"Yes, we must go quickly," I agreed, "for he may be in danger."

We lighted the signal fire for the train to come on, shook hands cordially with the passengers, who were unspeakably grateful for their rescue, resumed the weapons we had cast away in following Paranoh, and hastened in the direction in which we had last seen Old Firehand.

At first the noise of the approaching train drowned all other sounds, but after we had gone far enough from this, the profound silence of the night enveloped us, and still nothing revealed to us the whereabouts of our missing comrade. After a long and fruitless search we were about to go back to the railroad, thinking he too must have returned by this time, when we heard a cry in the distance.

"That must be our brother, Old Firehand, for the Poncas would not betray themselves by a cry as they are fleeing," said Winnetou. "Quick, we must go to him; he is in danger."

We separated, Winnetou going east, I toward the north, whence I thought the sound had come. As I ran forward I found I was right, for the cry was repeated, much louder than before. And then I saw a group of men fighting. "I'm coming, Old Firehand; I'm coming," I shouted, running still faster.

Old Firehand was kneeling on the ground; he had sunk down wounded, and was defending himself against three foes, having already laid three others low. They were the same six Poncas whom we had seen, and whose horses we had taken. Each stroke might end Old Firehand, and I was fully fifty feet away. So I paused, and raised my revolver, which I had reloaded. The light

of the moon was uncertain, my pulse was rapid, and my breath short from running, dangerous conditions under which to shoot, for I might hit him whom I wished to aid; however, I must venture it.

Three shots in rapid succession; the three foes fell. I ran up to Old Firehand, who cried: "Thank God! That was the nick of time, the very last moment."

"You are wounded; seriously?" I asked.

"Not to endanger my life. Tomahawk cuts in the legs, that's all. The fellows could not get at me from above, so they hacked away below. But what a shot you are! In such a light and after such a run to hit all three in the head! I had only my knife and my fist, for I had thrown away my other weapons. If you hadn't come up I'd be in eternity now. I won't forget this debt to Old Shatterhand."

Winnetou joined us at this moment, and we managed to get Old Firehand back to the horses. We found that we should be forced to wait at least a week before he would be able to ride, however, so we carried him half a day's journey to where there was water and woods, and waited his recovery in safety, and gratitude for the happy ending of our good night's work.