Only for a moment, though. Realising that this new enemy represented but a single unit, they hurled themselves forward with redoubled ardour, yelling hideously.

"The gulch, pardner! Streak for the gulch!" sung out a stentorian voice; and sending another bullet among the on-rushing redskins, this time with effect, Smokestack Bill kicked up his horse, which had been lying p.r.o.ne, and in half a minute was flying side by side with his friend.

Short though this check had been, yet it had given them a momentary advantage. But, now, as they neared the mouth of the pa.s.s, it became clear to these two experienced Indian fighters that one of them must give his life for the rest.

"Take the young lady on," said the scout. "You're in it together, and must get out of it together. Reckon I'll stand them back long enough for you to strike cover."

Here was a temptation. Vipan knew well that it was so. A short ten minutes would save her--would save them both. His friend could hold the bloodthirsty savages in check for more than that. A struggle raged within him--a bitter struggle--but he conquered.

"No, no, old pard. I'm the man to stay," he answered, slipping from his saddle, for they were now at the entrance of the pa.s.s. "Good-bye. Take her in safe."

It was no time for talking. The pursuers, rendered tenfold more daring by the prospect of the most coveted prize of all--a white woman--were almost on their heels, the rocks re-echoing their exultant yells.

Yseulte's horse, maddened with terror and stimulated by a shower of blows from the scout, bounded forward at a tearing gallop.

"Wait, wait! We cannot leave him like this! We must turn back!" she cried, breathless, but unable to control her steed, which was stampeding as though all the Sioux in the North-West were setting fire to its tail.

"Help me! Help me to turn back!" she cried, in a perfect frenzy of despair. "We have deserted him--left him to die!"

Left alone, the bold adventurer felt no longer any hope, but in its stead he was conscious of a wild elation. His death would purchase _her_ safety, and death was nothing in itself, but every moment gained was of paramount importance. Carefully he drew a bead on the charging warriors and fired. A pony fell. Another rapid shot. This time a human victim. This stopped their headlong rush, and still wheeling in circles they hesitated to come nearer.

He glanced around. Overhead, the slopes, almost precipitous, offered many a possible hiding-place. He might even escape--but he was not there for that. He was there to hold back the enemy--till night, if necessary.

The day wore on. The Sioux, who had drawn off to a distance, seemed in no mood to renew the attack. They were resting their ponies.

Suddenly he saw a score of them leap on horseback again and ride rapidly away. What could this mean?

A shadow fell between him and the light. There was a hurtling sound--a crash--and before he could turn or look up, the whole world was blotted out in a stunning, roaring, heaving sea of s.p.a.ce. Then faintness, oblivion, death.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

"I WOULD RATHER HAVE DIED WITH HIM."

Not till they had covered at least two miles could Yseulte Santorex regain the slightest control over her recalcitrant steed. In fact, in her fatigue and nervousness it was as much as ever she could do to keep her seat at all. At length, panting and breathless, she reined in and turned round upon the scout, who had kept close upon her pony's heels.

"I am going back," she cried, her great eyes flashing with anger and contempt. "I would sooner die than desert a--a friend."

"Not to be done, miss," was the quiet answer. "Vipan said to me the last thing--'Bill, on your life take her safe in.' And on my life I will. You bet."

Yseulte looked at him again. A thought struck her and she seemed to waver.

"See here, miss," went on the scout. "Vipan and I have hunted and trapped and prospected together and stood off the reds a goodish number of years. We are pardners, we are, and if he entrusts me with an undertaking of this kind, I've got to see it through. Same thing with him. So the sooner we reach Fort Vigilance, where I'm going to take you, and you're safe among the people there, the sooner I shall be able to double back and try what can be done for Vipan."

"Oh, I never thought of that. Pray do not let us lose a moment."

"So. That's reasonable. You see, miss, it's this way. Women are terrible dead-weights when it comes to fightin' Indians. The varmints'll risk more for a white woman than for all the scalps and plunder in this Territory rolled together. No. Like enough, now that you're snug away, they'll turn round and give up my pard as 'bad medicine.' I reckon there ain't a man between Texas and the British line knows Indians better than my pardner. One day he's fighting 'em, another day he's smokin' in their lodges. He knows 'em, he does."

With this she was forced to be content.

Loyalty to his friend thus moved him to rea.s.sure her, but, as a matter of fact, the honest scout felt rather bitter towards this girl. He blamed her entirely for his comrade's peril. He had narrowly watched that comrade of late, and accurately gauged the state of the latter's feelings. Why had this fine lady come out there and played the fool with his comrade--the man with whom he had hunted and trapped for years--with whom he had fought shoulder to shoulder in many a fierce scrimmage with white or red enemies? They had stood by each other through thick and thin, and now this English girl had come in the way, and to satisfy her vanity had sent Vipan to his death--his death, possibly, amid the ghastly torments of the Indian stake. She would probably go home again and brag of her "conquest" with a kind of patronising pity.

In silence they kept on their way--the scout's watchful glance ever on the alert. Suddenly his companion's voice aroused him from the intensity of his vigilance. He started.

"Tell me," she said. "What chance is there of rescuing your friend?"

Her tone was so calm, so self-possessed, that in spite of the deathly pallor of her face it deceived the worthy scout. He felt hard as iron towards her.

"About as much chance, I judge, as I have of being elected President,"

he replied, gruffly. "And now I want you to know this--If you hadn't troubled your dainty head about my pard, he wouldn't be where he is now.

And mind me, if it hadn't been for him, where d'you think you'd be to-day? You'd be wishing you were dead. You'd be doin' scavenger work in a Sioux village, leading a dog's life at the hands of every sooty squaw in the camp--if it hadn't been for Vipan. And now if the Lord works an almighty miracle and I get my pard clear of the red devils, maybe you won't say overmuch to him if you meet him--won't be over-anxious to say you're glad to see him safe and sound again--"

The speaker pulled up short, staring blankly at her. She had burst into a wild storm of sobs.

"You are unjust. Oh, G.o.d! Oh, G.o.d! send him back to me!" Then turning to the dumbfoundered scout, and controlling herself to speak firmly: "Listen. If it would save his life I would cheerfully undergo death at this moment. I would suffer the slow fire or anything. Think what you like of me--G.o.d knows I speak the truth."

"Say that again, miss," stammered the other. "Well, I ask your pardon.

I allow I don't know shucks of the ways of women. If it's to be done, my pard'll be brought out. What shall I tell him if so be I find him?"

he added, as if struck with a bright idea.

"Tell him," and her voice shook with a tenderness she now no longer cared to conceal, "tell him to come straight to me wherever I am. And if--ah, I cannot think of it--I would rather have died with him!"

Thus the secret of her tortured heart escaped her in that cry of anguish; not to a sister woman, but to the rough and weather-beaten frontiersman who was piloting her across that grim and peril-haunted wilderness.

Again she relapsed into silence, and her escort noted that her tears were falling thick and fast. Suddenly she asked about the attack upon the waggon train.

Smokestack Bill felt in a quandary. She had gone through so much already, she still had need of all her strength, all her nerve, before she should reach the distant frontier post to which he was guiding her.

What would happen if he were to tell her the horrible news that they two were the sole survivors of the ill-fated caravan; that he owed his escape from the hideous ma.s.sacre to the same cause as she did her own-- accidental absence? He felt unequal to the task, and evaded the necessity of replying by the invention of a somewhat cowardly pretext, to wit, the imperative advisability of preserving silence as far as possible.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A RACE FOR--DEATH.

When Vipan recovered consciousness he found himself unable to stir. A lariat rope was tightly coiled around him from head to foot, binding his arms to his sides, and rendering him as helpless as a log.

He tried to move, but an acute pain shooting through his head seemed to crush him again, and he half closed his eyes, stunned and confused.

A dark face peered into his. A tall Indian was bending over him. In the grim painted lineaments he recognised, to his astonishment, the countenance of War Wolf.

"Ha, Golden Face. You feel better now? Good! We will start."

He made no reply. Glancing around him, he noted that the warriors were making their preparations to move. The ponies, which had been grazing all ready saddled, were caught; and at a sign from War Wolf two of the Indians proceeded to loosen the lariat rope in such wise as to allow him the use of his legs.

"Now, mount," said one of them, as his fellow led a pony alongside of the captive, who surveyed his steed designate with a dubious air.

"That sheep isn't up to my weight," he said.