They say that when a man is drowning he lives his life in the seconds in which he dies. The whole past rushes up before him as if the Book of Life was held before him. Nothing like that happened in Indian’s case. He seemed to have but one thought; his fascinated gaze was fixed upon his steadily-advancing foe.
The old man was a terrible sight to look at. His fierce, exultant look of triumph made him doubly hideous, if such a thing could be. His bright eyes flashed and his teeth gleamed, as a savage tiger’s might. Set in the mass of clotted and tangled bloody hair it made a face that might well cause the bravest to tremble. And certainly our timid and helpless Joseph Smith shook with terror.
Indian had another thought to overcome him at that time of terror. Not only his own safety, but his friends’! All rested with him! He alone could help them. Loud sounds rang deafeningly in his ears from behind that iron door. Cries of terror, voices pleading for help, all, all of them shouting his name. And in front of him, between him and the door, was the advancing maniac and his ever-gleaming knife.
A wild and desperate thought flashed over the agonized lad. One dash for the door! He might succeed in turning the fatal knob before the knife struck. But as Indian looked the fierce old man seemed to comprehend his purpose. His knotted muscles settled into a firmer and more tense position, as if he were nerving himself to be ready to spring at the move. At the same time he crept on still faster, and poor Indian shrank back in dread.
Indian gazed about the cavern helplessly; his glance roamed over the floor and the walls, as if searching for something to aid him. But what could he hope to find? And then, suddenly, as his glance returned to the maniac, the lad sprang back with a shriek of terror.
The man had leaped forward!
Indian turned wildly as if to flee; he struck against a chair that lay in his path and then half instinctively he seized it, and as he felt his foe’s hot breath behind him, faced about and raised the slight weapon on high.
The old man made a savage spring and closed with his victim. The plebe brought the chair down with a desperate effort, all the strength that was in his body. A moment later he uttered a gasp of joy.
He had struck the descending knife. The shattered blade was falling to the ground!
But Indian’s triumph was for but a moment. With a hiss of rage, the savage creature leaped forward again. Indian turned once more and fled at the top of his speed.