dim to his sight. A myriad of little black specks danced before his eyes,
and the blood was beating a quick march in his ears.

The two savages were motionless, as if carved of brown marble, and over
all the wilderness hung silence. Then out of the silence came a sharp
report, and the warrior who stood erect, rifle in hand, fell to the earth,
stricken by instant death. Henry had come! His faithful comrade had not
failed him! Paul shouted aloud in his tremendous relief and joy, forgetful
of the second warrior.

The kneeling savage sprang to his feet, but he had made a fatal mistake.
To light the fire for the torture, he had left his rifle leaning against
the trunk of a tree twenty feet away, and before he could regain it a
terrible figure bounded from the bushes, the figure of a great youth, clad
in buckskin, his face transformed with anger and his eyes alight. Before
the savage could reach his weapon he went down, slain by a single blow of
a clubbed rifle, and the next moment Henry was cutting Paul loose with a
few swift slashes of his keen hunting knife.

"I knew you would come! I knew it!" exclaimed Paul joyously and wildly, as
he stood forth free. "Nobody in the world but you could have done it,
Henry!"

"I don't know about that, Paul," said Henry, "but I'd have had you back
sooner if it hadn't been for the dark. I followed you all night the best
way I could, but I couldn't come up to you until day, and they began work
then."

He glanced significantly at the leaves and brushwood, and then, handing
Paul's rifle to him, looked at those belonging to the savages.