common man, and he clutched the
muscled neck in a grasp of steel, pressing his shoulder against his
adversary's face, to still the outcry he knew would come.

The orgy at the fire was lifting its tone of riot into one of savagery
and menace, the tom-toms beat more swiftly with gaining excitement, and
the yapping yells were growing more frequent.

It was an auspicious moment and the heart of McElroy throbbed with a
savage pleasure, but suddenly he felt other hands disputing his grip on
the astonished Indian, who was raining blows upon him having dropped his
gun in the first shock. Over the bare shoulder of the warrior, shining
like bronze in a gleam of light, he saw the face of De Courtenay, its
blue eyes alight.

In a flash his grip was torn from behind, and, as the Indian reared his
head and threw back his great shoulders, lifting him clear of the earth,
he heard the joyous voice of the cavalier.

"Run!" it cried, as he fell clear; "run! And tell Maren Le Moyne that
her name is last upon my lips,--her face last before--"

Out above the words there rang the shrill cry of the guard, his mouth
uncovered by McElroy's shaking off.

The Indian had whirled and grappled with De Courtenay, and, before
McElroy could tear him loose, fighting like a madman, out from the
yelling circle there poured an avalanche of lunatics, jerked from
Gehenna by that ringing cry.

Foremost was Bois DesCaut, his evil eyes glinting like a witch's omen.

Yelling, jumping, flaming with the liquor of the Bois-Brules, they fell
upon the two men and dragged them, half-falling, half-running, toward
the circle, into it, and up to the fire.

"Ho-ho! ho-ho-o! Ha-ha! ha-ha-a! ha-ha!"

Faces wild as the devil's dreams pushed close, hands plucked at them,
and suddenly a dozen painted braves caught up handfuls of live coals and
flung them upon them.

In the midst of it McElroy looked stupidly at De Courtenay.

"For the love of God!" he said, "why did you not run?"

"Why didn't you?"

The cavalier was laughing.

"I could not, M'sieu," he added; "the charm of the hazard was too
great."

And that was the last word he offered the man who would have delivered
him, turning to face the savages.

"Dogs!" he cried in French; "dogs and sons of dogs!"

Stooping suddenly, he snatched a horned headdress from the crown of an
aged medicine man, scooped it full of glowing brands, and tossed its
contents straight into the wild faces before him.

Then he