"What's that?" cried Joe.
"One of the boxes of exposed film!" cried Blake. "They know what we're after. Oh, if only it isn't damaged!"
"We can soon tell!" cried Hank, taking the lead. Then he yelled, between reports of his revolver:
"Hi there! you red beggars, give up! Drop that stuff you took from our camp! You haven't any of the grub left, I suppose, but we want those pictures! Drop 'em!"
Whether his talk was understood, or not, was not known; but others of the Indians began tossing away either boxes of film or other things—aside from food—which they had taken from the camp. They never stopped their horses, though, but ever urged on the tired beasts.
"Here's the first reel!" cried Blake, as he came up to where it lay. Quickly dismounting, he picked it up.
"Not hurt a bit!" he cried exultantly; "and the seals haven't been broken, showing that it hasn't been opened."
"Good!" cried Hank. "You go slow and pick up what you can, and Joe and I will chase after the Indians. Evidently they're going to run for it."
And it did seem so. The Indians never paused,
