Scarcely had she spoken when the sound of a rifle report came from the
top of the cliff, and Wemple's left arm dropped helpless beside him.

"They dare not shoot to kill," she said, "but they think they can
frighten you, and they may cripple the horse. My darling, you will not
let them have me again?" The terror in her voice told how intense was
her fear of capture.

"Sweetheart, they shall not have you again unless they kill me first!"

A dozen Indians were galloping recklessly down the steep trail. "Promise
me," Barbara, pleaded, "if it comes to that, if you must die, you will
kill me first! For it would be hell--it would be worse than hell--to go
back there now!"

Wemple did not answer. "Promise me that you will," she begged. "You do
not know what you would save me from; but believe me, and promise me that
you will not send me back to it!"

"I promise!" he answered as another shot whistled in front of them and
clipped the top of the horse's ear. Wemple dug his spurs into its
sweating side and the beast sprang forward at a faster gallop. The
Indians, shouting loudly, were urging their ponies across the plain at
breakneck speed. Lieutenant Wemple glanced back again and a frown
wrinkled his forehead, as he said, "If our horse does not break down we
may keep ahead of them until we reach Laguna."

[Illustration: Wemple dug his spurs into its sweating side and the beast
sprang forward at a faster gallop.]