I had him by his right wrist, my left arm shoved under his chin and into his red throat. The girl’s gaze sent my gaze downward. He was trying to work the knife from its sheath before I could force him backward or break his neck. But the sheath was too long for the knife and he could not reach the handle with his fingers until he had forced the blade upward by pinching the tip of the sheath. I did not try to interfere with his maneuver, but settled myself solidly to hold him from escaping.
“The knife, Basdel!” she shrilly repeated. Then she nearly upset my calculations by trying to thrust a bough between my foe’s feet. Only by a nimble maneuver did I escape being tripped; but it was heartening to know Patricia could respond to my needs.
“Stand clear!” I panted. “I have him!”
“But the knife!” she despairingly cried.
“He’s getting it for me!” I replied.
Now he had managed to work the haft clear of the leather and his left hand was closing on it. His eyes told me that much. Instantly I changed my tactics. I dropped my left arm to seize his left wrist. I released his right wrist and with my free hand tore the weapon from his grasp. He struck me in the head with his free fist, but I felt it none as he did not have the white man’s trick of delivering a buffet. We went down side by side, and by the time we had rolled over once he was dead by his own knife.
Retaining the weapon, I ran to Patricia as she collapsed by the side of the dying woman.
“I am all right! Get up!” I commanded.
Cousin’s sister smiled grimly, and whispered:
“He has been watching us. He saw me come here when I scratched the tree. He has been hiding—The marks I made on the honey-tree—Look behind it—the pea-vines—. Tell Shelby I send him a little sister—” And she had solved all her problems, and had passed into the compassion of the manito whose gentleness and understanding surpass all comprehension.