the charge, which was a
right point. I did not parry it successfully. The blade grazed my arm,
tearing my flesh. The barrel of my rifle caught in the sling of the
lance, and the piece was whipped out of my hands.

The wound, the shock, and the loss of my weapon, had discomposed me in
the manage of my horse, and it was some time before I could gain the
bridle to turn him. My antagonist had wheeled sooner, as I knew by the
"hist" of an arrow that scattered the curls over my right ear. As I
faced him again, another was on the string, and the next moment it was
sticking through my left arm.

I was now angry; and, drawing a pistol from the holster, I cocked it,
and galloped forward. I knew it was the only chance for my life.

The Indian, at the same time, dropped his bow, and, bringing his lance
to the charge, spurred on to meet me. I was determined not to fire
until near and sure of hitting.

We closed at full gallop. Our horses almost touched. I levelled and
pulled trigger. The cap snapped upon my pistol!

The lance-blade glittered in my eyes; its point was at my breast.
Something struck me sharply in the face. It was the ring-loop of a
lasso. I saw it settle over the shoulders of the Indian, falling to his
elbows. It tightened as it fell. There was a wild yell, a quick jerk
of my antagonist's body, the lance flew from his hands, and the next
moment he was plucked out of his saddle, and lying helpless upon the
prairie.

His horse met mine with a concussion that sent both of them to the
earth. We rolled and scrambled about, and rose again.

When I came to my feet, El Sol was standing over the Navajo, with his
knife drawn, and his lasso looped around the arms of his captive.

"The horse! the horse! secure the horse!" shouted Seguin, as he galloped
up; and the crowd dashed past me in pursuit of the mustang, which, with
trailing bridle, was scouring over the prairie.

In a few minutes the animal was lassoed, and led back to the spot so
near being made sacred with my grave.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A DINNER WITH TWO DISHES.

El Sol, I have said, was standing over the prostrate Indian. His
countenance indicated the blending of two emotions, hate and triumph.

His sister at this moment galloped up, and, leaping from her horse,
advanced rapidly forward.

"Behold!" said he, pointing to the Navajo chief; "behold the murderer of
our mother!"

The girl uttered a short, sharp exclamation; and, draw