Stella tried to scream, but her throat refused to give forth a sound. It was like the nightmare when one tries to scream for terror of the awful shape that is about to menace, but cannot utter a sound.
Somewhere outside she heard her name. It was Ted calling to her, but she could not answer.
Now the Indian was only a step away, and had reached out his arms to grasp her.
Suddenly the door flew open, and there stood Ted Strong. But only for an instant.
With one leap he was into the room, and as the Indian turned, with that beastly leer still on his face, Ted was upon him.
Catching the Indian by the collar, he swung him around, while at the same time his left arm flew forward, and his fist struck the Indian's jaw with a smash that sent his head back, and wrung a groan from him. Again and again the fist encountered the Indian's face, rocking his head horribly, until it hung upon his shoulder, and then, with an exclamation of disgust, Ted flung the brute from him, and the inert body rolled into a corner, where it lay still.
"Oh, Ted," exclaimed Stella, "that Indian is Running Bear, with whom you had trouble when putting the Whipple gang out of business."
"I know it, but I don't think he'll bother us any more. Come, girls," said Ted, "it's time to go out and see the beef issue. They're reading the names now, and the bucks are assembling."
Outside a strange scene was being enacted. A clerk from the Indian agent's office was sitting on top of the fence of the cattle corral reading the names of the Indians from a large book.
"Na-to-no-mah, John Fisher!" called the clerk, and a middle-aged Indian stepped forward listlessly and stood aside.