ge of the ravine, some distance ahead
of him, and make some menacing motion toward him. As the ravine at this
point was a sheer precipice, the hunter did not believe he would
attempt to descend it, and feeling there was no danger of being fired
upon, he kept steadily onward.

But he was mistaken. Before he was opposite the savage, he came sliding
and tumbling down the ravine, as though some one had pushed him from
behind. However that may have been, he alighted on his feet without
injury, and made directly toward the fugitives, with the manifest
intention of checking their flight.

Lewis Dernor saw that a collision with the Indian was unavoidable, and
without the least hesitation prepared himself for it. The savage was a
Miami--a brawny, muscular warrior, fully six feet in height, of
matchless symmetry and formidable strength. When the combatants were
perhaps a dozen yards apart, he raised his tomahawk over his head, and
poising it a moment, hurled it, with a most deadly force, full at the
head of the hunter. The latter had not expected such a demonstration as
this, but had detected it in time to avoid it. He dropped his head the
instant the weapon left the savage's hand, and it whizzed over him,
going end over end, until it struck the solid rock, where the terrible
force of the concussion shivered it to atoms. Seeing this, the Miami
whipped out his knife and stood on the defensive.

"Now, my good friend," muttered Dernor, between his clenched teeth, "it
is _my_ turn."

He handed his rifle to Edith--who had paused, now that they were so
close to their enemy--and, drawing his own knife, made a sort of
running bound, coming upon the Indian with a panther-like spring, that
nearly drove him backward off his feet. There was a clashing of knives,
the scintillation of steel against steel, the deadly embrace, and
hand-to-hand struggle; and, as the Rifleman recoiled clear of his
fallen adversary, he reached out to Edith for his rifle.

"Come on," said he, in his ordinary voice; "I guess the way is clear."

"I--I am afraid," faltered Edith, "that I can not run much further."

"There ain't any need of it," said the hunter. "Lean on me, and we'll
walk awhile, if there's a thousand tearing Injins after us."

Edith panted and trembled violently from the exhausting efforts she had
been compelled to make, while the mortal terror she felt at the Miamis,
made her nearly wild with excitement. Their chilling yells, so
different fr