CHAPTER XXII.

THE SPECTERS OF THE CAVE.

THE FIGHT was of longer duration and was much more desperate than one would suppose it could have been, considering the immense advantage which Smirker possessed over his wiry antagonist in weight and muscle; but of course it could end in but one way. White-horse Fred, bruised and exhausted, was borne to the ground at last, with the man’s knee on his breast and his brawny hand at his throat.

“Now let’s hear from you,” hissed Smirker. “Who was that fellow who came here and passed himself off for you, and why did you help him out in it? Speak, before I choke the life out of you.”

If Fred could have obeyed his reply would have been as defiant as ever; but the powerful grasp on his throat rendered articulation impossible.

“You won’t tell me?” demanded Smirker; “then take the reward of your treachery.”

The robber’s hand glided around his side to his belt, and when it came in sight again it brought with it a gleaming bowie-knife, which was raised in the air above the prisoner’s breast; but just as it was on the point of descending it was arrested as effectually as though the arm which wielded it had been turned into stone.

“Hold hard, thar!”

The words, uttered by a strange voice and spoken in a tone of stern command, rang through the stable with startling distinctness. Smirker raised his eyes and there, standing in the door to which Fred had so often directed his gaze, was a gigantic figure clad in buckskin, holding in his hands a long, heavy rifle, the muzzle of which was pointed straight at the robber’s head.

“Silas Roper!” gasped Fred’s antagonist.

“‘Tain’t nobody else, as you’ll find out mighty sudden if you move an eyelid,” was the reply. “Drop that we’pon an’ get up from thar.”

The command was no sooner uttered than it was obeyed by the trembling Smirker, who threw down his knife and slunk away like a whipped cur before the stalwart trapper, as he came striding into the stable, and retreating toward the nearest stall, held both his hands above his head in token of surrender.

“None of that ar, now,” said Silas, as he bent over the prostrate form of the boy. “Keep out in plain sight whar I can have an eye on you. Are you bad hurt, Fred? If you are, that feller’s signed his death-warrant.”

“No! no!” moaned the boy faintly. “Don’t touch him.”

Smirker was amazed to hear the one who had so narrowly escaped death at his hands interceding for him. It relieved him of all fear of bodily injury, and he straightway began to recover his composure; but he drew a step or two nearer to Fred’s side, thinking it best to keep as far as possible out of the reach of the giant, whom he knew had good cause to be at enmity with him.

“I shall be all right as soon as I have had time to recover the breath he choked out of me,” continued the latter. “Oh, Silas, I am so glad to see you! But why didn’t you come just a few minutes sooner. I have seen _him_. He was in this very stable.”

“Him!” repeated the trapper. “Who? Not Julian?”

“Yes, Julian. I didn’t think I should know him when I met him, but I