was unloaded, and then emptied his revolver; but ever dodging and
crouching from tree to rock, the red men, whose country he and his
companions had invaded, came nearer and nearer. In a little while the
fight was hand to hand. There was not the faintest show for escape; to
be taken alive was to be tortured to death, so he fought on, clubbing
his revolver until a well-directed blow from a war club caught the gun,
sent it whirling through the top of a nearby cedar, and left the
pathfinder empty-handed. The chief sprang forward and lifted his hatchet
that had caused more than one paleface to bite the dust. For the
faintest fraction of a second it stood poised above Bradford's head,
then out shot the engineer's strong right arm, and the Indian lay flat
six feet away.

For a moment the warriors seemed helpless with mingled awe and
admiration, but when Bradford stooped to grab his empty rifle they came
out of their trance. A dull blow, a sense of whirling round swiftly, a
sudden sunset, stars--darkness, and all pain had gone!


III

When Bradford came to they were fixing him for the fun. His back was
against a tree, his feet pinioned, and his elbows held secure by a
rawhide rope. He knew what it meant. He knew by the look of joy on the
freshly smeared faces at his waking, by the pitch-pine wood that had
been brought up, and by the fagots at his feet. The big chief who had
felt his fist came up, grinning, and jabbed a buckhorn cactus against
the engineer's thigh, and when the latter tried to move out of reach
they all grunted and danced with delight. They had been uneasy lest the
white man might not wake.