ound. All must be over, I
think--tragedy and massacre, all--and the camp is on fire.

Even the commander of our little force takes a serious view of the case
now. He draws his sword, looks to his revolver, and speaks to his men in
calm, determined tones.

For long minutes the silence round the camp is unbroken, but suddenly
rifles ring out in the still air, and I breathe more freely once again.
Then the firing ceases, and is succeeded by the wild war-cries of the
attacking savages, and the hoarse, defiant slogan of the defending Scots.

'Hurrah!' I shout, 'we are yet in time. Oh, good sir, hurry on! Listen!'

Well might I say listen, for now high above the yell of savages and ring
of revolvers rises the shriek of frightened women.

I can stand this no longer. I set spur to my horse, and go dashing on
towards the camp.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE FLIGHT AND THE CHASE.

The very last thing I had seen that cool Argentine commander do, was to
light a fresh cigarette with the stump of the old one. The next time I saw
him, he was standing by his wounded horse, in the moonlight, with a spear
wound in his brow, but smoking still.

The onslaught of the savages had been for a while a terrible one, but the
soldiers came in time, and the camp was saved.

Hardly knowing what I did--not knowing till this day how I did it--I had
put my good steed at the breastwork, and, tired though he was, he fairly
cleared it. Next I remember hewing my way, sword in hand, through a crowd
of spear-armed savages, finding myself close to the ladies' caravan, and
next minute inside it.

A single glance showed me all were safe. Aileen lay pale and motionless on
the sofa. Near her, revolver in hand, stood my brave aunt, and by the
stove was old Jenny herself.

'Oh, bless you, dear boy!' cried auntie. 'How glad we are to see you!'

"Deed are we, laddie!' chimed old Jenny; 'but--' and she grinned as she
spoke, 'they rievin' Philistines will be fools if they come this road
again. I've gi'en some o' them het [hot] hurdies. Ha, ha! I'm makin' a
drap mair for them in case they come again.'

'Poor thing!' I think; 'she has gone demented.'

There was no time now, however, to ask for explanation; for although the
Indians had really been driven off, the chase, and, woe is me, the
slaughter, had commenced.

And I shudder even yet when I think of that night's awful work on the
moonlit pampas. Still, the sacrifice of so many redskins was calculated