"The red-man has been constantly upon her trail," he continued, "since she escaped from the wigwam of old Metiz. He has followed her fast and far. Now she shall never leave his side again. Where he goes she shall go and he will make her obey."
"Where, oh, where are you going to take me?"
"Far away from even the village of his tribe. There he will keep her until her proud spirit is broken. He will tame her by hunger and thirst, and heavy loads, and the whip, and—"
"Oh, misery!"
"It is the song she will sing until death!"
Striking in a directly opposite direction to that of the encampment of the tribe, he soon emerged from the timber, and much to her comfort, even if not joy, she was lifted upon a horse and carried along until near noon. Then a swift-winged bullet suddenly put a stop to their course. It had pierced the skull of the horse, and he reared and fell backward, carrying his riders to the ground with him, and, as it appeared, crushing the Indian under him and hurling the girl to some distance, where she lay crippled, even if not dead.
Then the renegade Parsons issued from the woods, cautiously approached and crept around to obtain a better view before venturing nearer. But at length he became convinced that the Indian was powerless to do harm.
But, true to his training, the chief had counterfeited death to draw the white man to him, for, save his knife and hatchet, he was weaponless; and the instant the white man came within reach he sprung up and upon him with a yell of delight.
But, if a traitor and black-hearted villain, George Parsons was a good fighter when the test came—was muscular and desperate. He met the red warrior without flinching, and though the heavy buck-skin garments he wore protected him very much, while his antagonist was naked, save the shaggy bear-skin about his loins, yet the battle would have been a long one and doubtful had not his foot caught in a hole in the prairie, causing him to lose his balance and be thrown heavily.
Hurled backward upon the ground, the white man was at the mercy of one who never knew of such a thing, even in name, and who had many motives besides life and gaining the scalp of his enemy for winning the battle.