of Comanches and Tonquewas were returning from some expedition, they
perceived a man on horseback. They knew him to be Overton, and gave
chase immediately.

The chase was a long one. Overton was mounted upon a powerful and noble
steed, but the ground was broken and uneven; he could not get out of the
sight of his pursuers. However, he reached a platform covered with fine
pine trees, and thought himself safe, as on the other side of the wood
there was a long level valley, extending for many miles; and there he
would be able to distance his pursuers, and escape. Away he darted like
lightning, their horrible yell still ringing in his ears; he spurred his
horse, already covered with foam, entered the plain, and, to his horror
and amazement, found that between him and the valley there was a
horrible chasm, twenty-five feet in breadth and two hundred feet in
depth, with acute angles of rocks, as numerous as the thorns upon a
prickly pear. What could he do? His tired horse refused to take the
leap, and he could plainly hear the voices of the Indians encouraging
each other in the pursuit.

Along the edge of the precipice there lay a long hollow log, which had
been probably dragged there with the intention of making a bridge across
the chasm. Overton dismounted, led his horse to the very brink, and
pricked him with his knife: the noble animal leaped, but his strength
was too far gone for him to clear it; his breast struck the other edge,
and he fell from crag to crag into the abyss below. This over, the
fugitive crawled to the log, and concealed himself under it, hoping that
he would yet escape. He was mistaken, for he had been seen; at that
moment, the savages emerged from the wood, and a few minutes more
brought them around the log. Now certain of their prey, they wished to
make him suffer a long moral agony, and they feigned not to know where
he was.

"He has leaped over," said one; "it was the full jump of a panther.
Shall we return, or encamp here?"

The Indians agreed to repose for a short time; and then began a
conversation. One protested, if he could ever get Overton, he would
make him eat his own bowels. Another spoke of red-hot irons and of
creeping flesh. No torture was left unsaid, and horrible must have been
the position of the wretched Overton.

"His scalp is worth a hundred dollars," said one.

"We will get it some day," answered another. "But since we are here, we
had better camp and make a f