nd with my tomahawk--

It was a cruel thought, but it was the impulse of instinct, the instinct
of self-preservation.

It was not decreed that I should adopt so fearful an alternative. Moro,
impatient at being delayed in the perilous position, snorted and struck
the rock with his hoof. The clink of the iron was enough for the sharp
ears of the Spanish horses. They neighed on the instant. The savages
sprang to their feet, and their simultaneous yell told me that both had
discovered me.

I saw the vidette upon the cliff pluck up his spear, and commence
hurrying downward; but my attention was soon exclusively occupied with
his comrade.

The latter, on seeing me, had leaped to his feet, seized his bow, and
vaulted, as if mechanically, upon the back of his mustang. Then,
uttering a wild shout, he trotted over the platform, and advanced along
the ledge to meet me.

An arrow whizzed past my head as he came up; but in his hurry he had
aimed badly.

Our horses' heads met. They stood muzzle to muzzle with eyes dilated,
their red nostrils steaming into each other. Both snorted fiercely, as
if each was imbued with the wrath of his rider. They seemed to know
that a death-strife was between us.

They seemed conscious, too, of their own danger. They had met at the
very narrowest part of the ledge. Neither could have turned or backed
off again. One or other must go over the cliff--must fall through a
depth of a thousand feet into the stony channel of the torrent!

I sat with a feeling of utter helplessness. I had no weapon with which
I could reach my antagonist; no missile. He had his bow, and I saw him
adjusting a second arrow to the string.

At this crisis three thoughts passed through my mind; not as I detail
them here, but following each other like quick flashes of lightning. My
first impulse was to urge my horse forward, trusting to his superior
weight to precipitate the lighter animal from the ledge. Had I been
worth a bridle and spurs, I should have adopted this plan; but I had
neither, and the chances were too desperate without them. I abandoned
it for another. I would hurl my tomahawk at the head of my antagonist.
No! The third thought! I will dismount, and use my weapon upon the
mustang.

This last was clearly the best; and, obedient to its impulse, I slipped
down between Moro and the cliff. As I did so, I heard the "hist" of
another arrow passing my cheek. It had missed me from the suddennes