The afternoon sun lay scorching hot upon the arid plain. Heat waves moved in the air like the billows of a phantom sea. To the west were barren mountain-peaks and the nearer foot-hills; to the east the unbroken plain lay level to the horizon.

Behind the body of his dead horse lay a sorely wounded man, with his dog crouching close at his side. The dog's dry tongue lolled from the animal's mouth; at times the poor creature whined and sought to lick the hand of its master; anon he growled fiercely, the hair bristling on his neck, and started up in a savage manner.

"Down, Boxer, down!" the man would order, in a voice ever growing weaker. "You can't help. The red devils will get you with a bullet.

Down, sir!"

At which the dog would sink back, whine again and draw his filelike tongue along the hand or cheek of his master.

"Heavens!" muttered the man. "For a swallow of water. I'd give the last ounce in the saddle-bags if I could finish one or two more of those murderous curs before I cash in!"

His almost nerveless hands grasped the barrel of his rifle, and he looked away toward the spot where six hors.e.m.e.n had drawn up in a little cl.u.s.ter just beyond bullet-reach.

They were Indians, mounted on tough ponies, and some of them armed with modern weapons. Two or three carried lances, on which the glaring sun glinted.

They had hunted him down; they had killed the horse beneath him and wounded him unto death. The bullet was through his body, and the sands of life were ebbing fast. He had reached the end of his trail, and the red fiends out there on the baking plain knew they had only to wait a while and then ride forward unmolested and strip off his scalp. Yet, being far from their reservation, the savages were impatient at the delay. Their hearts were vengeful within them, for in the chase he had slain two of their number.

One of them, an impetuous young buck, was for making haste in finishing the paleface. He motioned toward the declining sun and suggested that the wounded man might try to crawl away with the coming of darkness.

Besides, they had far to go, and it was a waste of time to wait for the paleface to die. Likely he was so far gone that he could not shoot to defend himself, and there would be little trouble in getting near enough to despatch him.

The impetuous spirit of this savage prevailed, and soon the redskins began riding around and around man and horse and dog, spreading out into a circle with great gaps and slowly closing in, now and then uttering a challenging yell. As they closed in they flung themselves over upon the sides of their ponies opposite the wounded man, so that their horses seemed riderless. Occasionally a shot was fired from beneath the neck of a racing pony.

The dying man gathered himself a little and watched them. A puff of white smoke leaped out before a pony and was quickly left behind to dissolve and fade in the heated air. A bullet threw up a bit of dust within three feet of the white man. The dog bristled and growled.

Another bullet clipped a stalk from a cactus plant five feet away.

"They're within shooting distance," whispered the doomed wretch. "Wonder if I've got nerve enough to drop a pony."

He rested his rifle on the body of the dead horse and waited. Out on the plain the racing ponies began to swim in a haze. He could see them indistinctly, and he brushed a hand across his eyes.

"I'm going fast, Boxer," he muttered to the dog. "My sight is failing!

I'm burning inside! And I know you're choking yourself, poor dog! It's a hard way to pipe out."

The dog whined sympathetically and pressed closer. A bullet whistled past the head of the man. He tightened his grip on his rifle, sought to take aim, and finally fired.

His bullet went wide of the target he sought, and a yell of derision floated to his ears through the hot air.

"No use!" he muttered huskily. "I'm done for! It's the finish! They can close right in and wipe me out!"

The savages seemed to know it, and they were drawing nearer.

Of a sudden out from the depths of a long barranca, a mighty fissure in the plain, produced in former ages by a convulsion of nature, or marking the course of a river--out from one end that rose to the surface of the plain not far from the circling savages, came a horse and rider. As the rider rose into view he began shooting with a magazine rifle, and his first bullet caused a redskin to lose his hold and tumble end over end in the dirt, while the pony galloped on.

The following Indian stooped and seemed to catch up his wounded comrade as he swept past.

The lone horseman rode straight at them in a reckless manner, working his repeater.

A pony was wounded, another plunged forward into the dirt. In another moment the redskins wheeled and were in full flight, astounded and demoralized by the attack, two of the horses carrying double, while another left drops of blood upon the ground.

The daring paleface uttered a strange war-whoop of triumph: "Brekekek Co-ax, Co-ax, Yale!"

Never before had those Indians heard such a singular cry from the lips of a white man. It seemed to fill them with a mad desire to get away, to flee at top speed. It struck terror into their hearts, as many a time the same slogan has struck fear to the hearts of those battling against Old Eli on some athletic field. They urged their ponies forward, and away they went, scurrying into the distance, with bullets singing around them.

The man behind the dead horse lifted himself and strained his bedimmed eyes, seeing the youthful rider shoot past in pursuit of the savages.

The dog rose, planting his forefeet on the horse's body, and barked madly.

When he was satisfied that the Indians were in full retreat, with little thought of turning or offering resistance, Frank Merriwell, for it was he who had dashed out of the barranca, drew up and turned about, galloping back toward the man he had dared so much to save.

But he had come too late.

As Merry rode near the dying man had fallen back beside his dead horse.

Over him stood the dog, covered with dust, its eyes glaring redly, its teeth disclosed, ready to defend the body of its master. As Frank drew up the dog snarled fiercely.

Merry saw at a glance that the situation of the dog's master was serious in the extreme. He dismounted and stepped forward, leaving his horse, knowing well the animal would stand. As he approached the dog grew fiercer of aspect, and he saw the creature meant to leap straight at his throat.

"Good dog!" he said, stopping. "Fine dog! Come, sir--come! Ah-ha, fine fellow!"

But all his attempts to win the confidence of the dog were failures.

"The man is dying," he muttered. "Perhaps I might save him if I could get to him now. Must I shoot that dog? I hate to do it, for the creature seems very intelligent."

At this moment the man stirred a little and seemed to realize what was happening. He lifted his head a little and saw the dismounted horseman and the threatening dog.

"Down, Boxer; down, sir!" he commanded. "Be quiet!"

His voice rose scarcely above a whisper, but the dog reluctantly obeyed, still keeping his eyes on Frank, who now stepped up at once.

"You're badly wounded, sir," he said. "Let me see if I can do anything for you."

"Give me water--for the love of Heaven, water!" was the harshly whispered imploration.

In a twinkling Frank sprang to his horse and brought back a canteen that was well filled. This he held to the lips of the wretched man, while the crouching dog watched every move with his red eyes.

That water, warm though it was, brought back a little life to the sinking man.

"G.o.d bless you!" he murmured gratefully.

The dog whined.

"Can't you give Boxer a little?" asked the dog's master. "He's suffering as much as I am."

Frank quickly removed from his saddle-bags a deep tin plate, on which some of the water was poured, and this the dog greedily licked up, wagging his tail in thankfulness.

"Poor old Boxer!" sighed the doomed man.

"Now, sir," said the youth, "let me examine your wound and find out what I can do for you."

"No use," was the declaration. "I'm done for. It's through the lung, and I've bled enough to finish two men. The blood is all out of me."

But the young man insisted on looking and did what he could to check the flow of blood.