aise their heads to the
breaking light in obedience to the will of day, while the great heavy
overhanging clouds were fast dispersing, giving way to the power of the
coming dawn.

The strenuousness of the day and night before had weakened Wade's system
until, when he closed his eyes against the growing beauty about him, he
fell fast asleep; but his weary, laden brain kept moving on. Before him,
in vision, the mighty lightning flashed, the great torrents of rain fell
and engulfed him. Suddenly there burst before his darkened vision a
licking flame of fire, from out of the midst of which came one bearing a
long-bladed knife in either hand. He was snarling like a wolf and
dancing jubilantly over his intended victim. The vision grew until the
knives were being brandished over his head, and he knew that it would be
only a moment until they should descend and his own heart would be cut
in twain. He seemed powerless to prevent. The sight was so fearful that
he became sick at heart and fainted away. His head bumped against a
boulder, and he awoke with a start.

When he opened his eyes he saw standing over him in reality Al Thompson,
with hand poised high in the air, ready to descend. In that hand was a
long-bladed knife, sickening to behold.

"Damn ye," said Thompson, between closely clamped teeth, "ye escaped me
somehow last night, but ye won't do it now. Ye mont as well say yer
prayers, an' say 'em quick, fer ye air a goner. I'll tear yer heart out
an' hang it on a pole an' take it back to ther gal."

Thompson raised himself a little higher until he stood on the tips of
his toes, in order that the force of his blow might be felt more
heavily. The knife started on its descending mission of murder.

Wade shuddered, he felt it was his last moment on earth. The
carelessness of falling to sleep bad given his enemy a great advantage.
But no, Fate was to save him. A rifle shot rang out over the mountain
stillness, the knife dropped to the ground, the band that had held it
fell limp to one side. With a cursing snarl and a howl of intense pain
Thompson quickly picked up the knife with his left hand and was about to
plunge it into the drowsy form of Jack Wade. Just at this juncture old
Peter Judson burst through the undergrowth and, in a commanding voice,
cried out: "Drap that knife, Al Thompson, or ye air a dead man right
thar!"

Thompson, looking into the barrel of Peter's rifle, concluded that
chances were against him, and al