"Wal, then, travel on ahead," roared the guide, growing angrier every moment. "We don't want you hangin' about us no longer."
"Oh, don't send him off," cried the invalid. "He is going to show us the way to a safe hiding-place."
"You need not be at all uneasy, Mr. Brecker," said Archie. "I have not the least intention of leaving you alone with these men."
"Haint you?" exclaimed Frost. "Mike, pull up them hosses. I'll soon fix him."
The time for action had come, and Archie was ready for it. As the teamster stopped the horses, and Frost leaped to the ground, he rode up to the wagon, and, thrusting his hand under the cover, pulled out the invalid's revolvers. He knew just where to find them, for he had seen their owner place them beside him on the mattress, where he could seize them at an instant's warning.
"What's the matter?" cried Mr. Brecker, in great alarm. "What are you going to do with those pistols?"
Archie could not stop to reply. He grasped a revolver in each hand, and covering the teamster's head with one of the weapons, pointed the other at the guide, who at that moment came around the end of the wagon. The former dropped the reins, and turned pale with terror; but Frost, who was in too great a hurry, and too highly enraged to notice any thing, ran up to Archie, and seized his horse by the bridle.
"Now, my lad," said he, savagely; "climb down——"
"Take your hand off that bridle!" interrupted Archie.
Frost now looked up for the first time, and seeing the shining barrel of the six-shooter leveled full at his head, uttered a cry of alarm, and staggered back as if he were about to fall to the ground. The man who boasted that he had never seen Indians enough to frighten him, was thoroughly cowed by a sixteen-year-old boy.