The dawn of the next day found his horse loping along, Swanson keeping a sharp eye out for Indians.
He was satisfied that he had at last eluded pursuit, and turning into a clump of timber he tied his horse with the remnants of the lariat and threw himself on the ground near it.
All day long he slept, and as evening closed in he turned his horse from the timber and mounting a slight elevation near it, he gazed around for landmarks. To his surprise, he recognized the country as that near his own ranche, and feeling the pangs of hunger in a most distressing degree, he urged his horse in the direction of the ranche.
He had ridden several hours, and he knew that he must be somewhere near his place, when, rising before him, he discerned the house.
Almost simultaneous with his discovery a wide sheet of flame burst from the roof and, dismayed and astonished, Swanson checked his horse.
A multitude of yells rent the air, and Swanson, turning his horse again fled before the avenging Cherokees, but a hissing whistling sound was heard, a long, writhing lariat shot out, and the noose, falling over Swanson's shoulders, drew together with the run, and, lifted completely from the saddle, Swanson was thrown senseless to the ground. A bucketful of water was dashed over his face, and recovering he saw the demon faces of Eagle Claw and his band surrounding him.
"My brother was cold and we started a fire that he might get warm. He was lost and we made a light to guide him here. We love our brother Swanson. We would always have him with us," jeered the Indian.
To this Swanson was incapable of replying. His senses were benumbed and he hardly realized what was going on around him. Staggering to his feet he reeled to and fro like a drunken man.
As he walked toward the fire, he was suddenly grasped from behind, and again were his arms pinioned. There was no escape for him this time. Forced to his knees, he was placed facing half a dozen of the best marksmen of the tribe. His shirt was torn open, exposing his hairy breast. A signal was given, and the sharp reports of the rifles rang out in tune with the crackling timbers of the house, and falling to his face, Swanson gave a convulsive struggle and died as his own roof fell in; and a mass of blackened timbers marked the place where once stood Swanson's ranche.