rang at Pete to clutch his knife. The Navaho flung up his
rifle. A chance blow of the barrel sent Lennon staggering half across
the anteroom.

The Apache writhed up into the doorway and bounded over the sack of
corn, his knife poised to strike. Pete whirled and fired from the hip.
An instant later he was locked in the clutch of the yelling, slashing
Apache. As they crashed down together in a furious death grapple, a
second Apache came scrambling in over the cliff edge. Side by side with
him appeared Cochise, the print of Lennon's boot-heel already blackening
on his ferociously scowling forehead.

Pete's rifle had fallen outward into the doorway, alongside the sack of
corn. Lennon was unarmed. There was no time for him to wrest the knife
from the wounded Apache and slash the ladder ropes. Cochise clutched
Pete's rifle and started to swing it around. His companion thrust out a
revolver.

The shot missed Lennon by inches as he leaped to the side opposite the
living room. He dashed out the first opening and started to run through
the front row of rooms, shouting at the top of his voice.

"Slade! Slade!" he yelled. "Cochise--Apaches! Defend yourself!"

From the inner rooms on his right came back an angry bellow. "What the
devil?"

Lennon twisted aside through a black doorway. Farther in he saw a
glimmer of light. Sharp turns through two more doorways brought him into
a kiva, or sacred chamber of the cliff dwellers, that was lighted by a
pair of candles. Slade stood beside the broken-edged entrance hole with
drawn revolver. The wounded Navaho was peering down from a hole in the
ceiling.

"Elsie!" panted Lennon. "Hide her! Pete betrayed you! All the
Apaches--coming up the ladder!"

Slade sprang sideways along the figure-decorated wall of the kiva. He
leaped to grasp the edge of the ceiling hole. The Navaho helped him draw
up into the dark room above. As his feet swung clear Lennon leaped in
turn to grasp the edge of the hole.

"Give me a hand up," he called. "I'll help you defend Elsie."

"Sure. You'll serve for wolf bait," jeered Slade.

His big hand thrust down and tapped the butt of the heavy revolver on
the top of Lennon's head.

CHAPTER XXII

THE SACRIFICE

The treacherous blow was just hard enough to stun Lennon. His
unconsciousness probably lasted only a few seconds. He roused to the
sound of heavy firing and the pungent odour of powder. He opened his
eyes.

One of the candles had been extin