EARLY the following morning, when I went out to give Swallow my usual greeting, I found all my friends discussing the place and manner of Paranoh's execution. With a sense of dramatic fitness, Old Firehand wanted to take him to Bee Fork, where his wife and baby had been murdered, and put him to death there. It seemed to me the risk of being overtaken by the Poncas which they would incur in going so far, and delaying so long, was not worth running. I saw that Winnetou agreed with me, but Harry fiercely opposed my counsel, and prevailed with his father, whose wishes coincided with the boy's. The result was that the little band set forth, and I, who refused to have anything to do with this expedition, because they meant to torture the criminal, remained behind in charge of the valley. Winnetou went with the others, chiefly to protect Harry.

Only a few of the trappers stayed at home, among them Dick Stone. The sentinel assured me he had seen no sign of danger, but I had learned to trust only my own eyes, and I searched the place thoroughly for a trace of an Indian. Just at the entrance to our valley I noticed some broken twigs, and on close examination saw that a man had lain here. Some one

had spied upon us then, and any moment might bring an attack. And there was another danger. He might have seen Paranoh and his escort go away, and it was important above all things to warn Old Firehand. Consequently, when I had told our sentinel of my discovery, I set out upon the trail of my friends. I had not gone far before I came on a second trail, coming sidewise from the bushes, and leading in the direction of Bee Fork. I followed it as cautiously as possible, yet so rapidly that I was not long reaching the spot where the waters of the Bee Fork flow into the river. As I did not know the place where the execution was to be I had to redouble my caution. The trail led me around a bend of the river, and I saw a clearing, in the middle of which was a group of fir balsams under whose branches sat the trappers in lively discussion, while the prisoner was bound to the trunk of one of the trees. Directly before me, at the most eighteen feet distant, lay a small band of Indians, and I saw in a moment that the rest had gone around to the right and left to attack my friends from three sides, and drive them into the river. There was not a moment to lose. I pressed the trigger of my rifle. For the first few seconds my shots were the only sound, for friends and foes were equally surprised by the unexpected thwarting of their plans. But immediately the war-cry of the Indians arose behind each bush, and the clearing was full of howling, shrieking, panting men, struggling in a mad hand-to-hand conflict.

I had sprung out at the same time the Indians had, and was just in time to save Harry from an Indian who had attacked him as he was about to shoot Paranoh. The trappers stood with their backs against the trees

and were defending themselves desperately. They were seasoned men, who had fought many a hard fight, and did not know fear, but it was plain that the superior force must prevail. One of the Indians had at once freed Paranoh. He swung his arms around his head to set the blood in motion, snatched a tomahawk from one of his followers, and growled as he rushed at Winnetou: "Come, you dog of a Pima. You shall now pay for my scalp." The Apache, hearing himself saluted by the nickname of his tribe, hopped, but he was already wounded, and was threatened at the same time from the other side. Old Firehand was surrounded by enemies, and we others were so hard pressed that we could not help. Longer resistance in this case were the greatest folly. Therefore I cried, as I seized Harry in my arms: "Into the water, men, into the water," and set the example myself.

My voice was heard above the din of combat, and those who could obeyed it. Though the Fork was deep, it was so small that only a few strokes were necessary to reach the other shore, but of course we were not safe there long, and my object was to cross the point, and swim over the big river.

I signaled to Harry to do this just as Sam Hawkins' little figure appeared, and started for the willows with the same end in view. But Harry held back, crying in anguish: "Father, father! I must go to him. I can't leave him."

"Come," I said forcing him onward. "We can't save him if he has not already saved himself."

We rushed on through thick and thin to reach the camp as soon as possible. Only a part of the Indian force had been at Bee Fork, and since we had been dis-

covered, and spied upon in our stronghold, it was likely that those we had left behind had also been attacked.

We had made considerable of the distance when we heard a shot in the direction of the valley. In a moment it was repeated, then several shots rang out; there was no doubt that the trappers left behind were fighting the Indians. We pressed forward eagerly to help them, and in spite of the obstacles in our path, reached the valley in a short time. We stopped at the point overlooking the entrance, where I had discovered the Indians' trail. They lay hidden in the edge of the woods, besieging the water gate from there, and to get any result we must go around behind them. Just then we heard a rustling as though some one were rushing through the bushes. At a sign from me we all hid behind the thick foliage of a shrub, and waited the appearance of the new-comers. How great was our delight as Old Firehand, followed by Winnetou and two trappers, came in sight! They also had escaped, and Harry showed his joy in this meeting in a way to prove to me that he had more heart than I had credited him with.

"Did you hear the shots?" demanded Old Firehand hastily.

"Yes."

"Come then. We must help our folks, for though the entrance is so small that one man can guard it, we don't know what may have happened."

"My white brothers may stay here. Winnetou will go to see on which tree the scalps of the Poncas hang." Without waiting for an answer to this proposition the Apache went away, and there was nothing for us to do but await his return, during which time

two more of our people joined us, drawn hither by the shots, as we had been.

A long time passed before Winnetou returned, but when he came we saw that he had a fresh scalp at his belt; he had surprised an Indian, and we could no longer stay where we were, for when the Poncas discovered the death of their comrade they would know that we were behind them. We followed Old Firehand's suggestion, and formed in a line parallel to the edge of the bushes, to attack our foes from the rear. We made our guns, which were wet from their bath, ready for use, and having come into position, at a signal, one after another, the nine guns rattled. Each shot found its man, and a howl of surprise and terror filled the air. Our line was so stretched out, and our shots followed one another so fast that the savages thought our number greater than it was, and took to flight.

Victorious we returned home, and made ready for further developments. One of the trappers was stationed as sentinel, the others attended to their wounds, and settled down to supper and rest. Gathered around the fire each one had to recount his experience during the trying day, and all rejoiced that the Indians had been driven off, and had abandoned the assault. Even Old Firehand shared this opinion; only Winnetou differed from it. He lay by his horse, a little at one side, and seemed sunken in profound thought.

"The eyes of my red friend are gloomy, and his brow bears the mark of care. What are the thoughts of his heart?" I asked, going over to him.

"The Apache chief sees death coming through the gate, and ruin descending from the hills. The valley is red with the flames of fire, and the water is crimson

with the blood of the slain. Winnetou speaks with the Great Spirit. The eyes of the pale-faces are blinded by hate, and their wisdom has disappeared in their desire for revenge. Paranoh will come, and take the scalps of the hunters, but Winnetou is girded for combat, and will raise the death song over the bodies of his foes."

No one seemed impressed by this prophecy, though I had long since learned to trust Winnetou's foresight. As evening came on, however, our precautions were doubled, and at my request I was put on guard just before dawn, the time when the attack was most likely to be made. Night rested calm and still over the valley, and the fire threw its quivering light around us. Swallow, who was allowed to roam at will in the hill locked pasture, was out of sight; I went to look him up, and found him quiet at the foot of the hills. After we had greeted each other as affectionately as usual, I went on still further, for a faint, falling sound made me listen. The horse too raised his head, and as the least breath might betray us, I laid my hand over his spreading nostrils. I listened, but beyond that fall of a stone there was nothing stirring. Perhaps some one besides myself had noticed that, and waited to be sure it had not been heard. This theory was the right one, for after a long time I saw several figures rise from the dark rocks, and descend beneath them, and soon I saw a number of Indians coming over the brow of the hill, one behind another, following their leader with cautious steps. In a few moments they would be in the valley. If I had had my Henry rifle I could have given the alarm, and made an end of Paranoh, who was the leader, but unfortunately I had only my revolver in my belt, and it was no good for long range. Just

then I heard a shot at the entrance of the valley, quickly followed by more, and I saw at once that the Indians were feigning an attack at that point to call our attention from the real source of danger. I sprang up the hill to get at Paranoh, and was so near that I could almost touch him, when the mass of stone beneath me gave way, and I fell from rock to rock, from ridge to ridge, all the way down, and for a moment lost consciousness. When I could collect myself, and open my eyes I saw three Indians only a few feet away from me, and jumping up, though I was fearfully bruised and shaken, I fired my revolver at them, sprang on Swallow, and tore back to the fire.

The Poncas, who now saw that their plan was discovered, raised the war-cry, and pursued me.

I found our camping place deserted; the men had gathered at the entrance, but had turned back at the sound of my shots.

"To the heights," I shouted. "The Indians are inside."

It was the only hope of deliverance, but it was too late. Hardly had I spoken when we were surrounded. It was a wild, a horrible struggle, such as no imagination can paint. The half extinguished fire threw its flickering light over the foreground of the valley, in which groups of men were fighting like demons. Through the howls of the Indians rose the trappers' cries of encouragement, and the short, sharp crack of revolver shots, while the earth seemed to tremble under the feet of the combatants.

There was no doubt that we were lost. There was no possibility of anything favorable happening to us and we felt our moments were numbered. But we

would not die like sheep; we would defend ourselves to the last, and with that coolness which gives the civilized man such an advantage over the savage.

I thought of the dear ones at home, to whom I should never return, but I put the thought away, for it would not do to think of anything that would make me falter. I tried to ask God to have mercy on my soul, and looked anxiously to see how many of my friends were still on their feet. Scarcely two paces from me on my right was Old Firehand. The way he fought for his life with his foes pressing on him filled me even then with wonder. His long gray hair hung in matted locks over his shoulders, his extended legs seemed rooted in the ground, and with a heavy tomahawk in one hand, and a sharp knife in the other, he held at bay the force pressing on him. He had more wounds than I, but none had brought him down, and once more I admired his tall, erect figure.

Just then Paranoh appeared, forcing his way to us. As soon as he saw Old Firehand, he cried: "At last I've got you! Think of Ribanna, and die."

He pushed by me, but I seized him by the shoulder, and prevented the deadly blow he was about to inflict.

"You too?" he cried." I'll have you alive. Give him a lariat."

Springing past me before I could again raise my tomahawk, he drew his pistol; the shot whizzed by me.

Old Firehand threw up his arms, sprang forward convulsively, and fell without a sound. I felt as though the bullet had entered my own breast as I saw the hero fall. I knocked down the Indian who was attacking me, and was about to fall on Paranoh, when I saw a

dark form forcing its way through the enemy, and raise its supple arms in front of the murderer. "Where is the crow of Atabaskah? Here stands Winnetou, the chief of the Apaches, to avenge his white brother."

"Ah, you Pima! I'll settle you!" Paranoh cried, but I heard no more. I had been too interested in the scene to remember myself. A lasso fell over my neck, and at the same time I felt a tremendous blow on my head, and lost consciousness. When I came to myself it was perfectly dark and still around me. A burning pain in my head at last recalled to me the blow I had received, and all that had preceded it. I thought I heard some one breathing beside me.

"Is any one here?" I asked.

"Well, yes; the man asks as if Sam Hawkins was nobody."

"Is it you, Sam? Where in the world are we?"

"Under shelter, boy. They have stuck us in this hole where we buried the skins. Lucky thing we removed them! At least they haven't found those."

"And how about the others?"

"Old Firehand is dead, Dick Stone is dead, Will Parker is dead. All are gone, but you and Winnetou, and the little fellow is half alive, and Sam Hawkins is not quite done for.''

"Are you certain that Harry is alive, Sam?"

"Do you suppose an old scalper doesn't know what he sees, man? They have stuck him in another hole beside us with your red friend. They are lovely people these Poncas, sweet things! They have taken everything away from this old 'coon, everything; pistol, pipe, and Liddy's gone up the spout -- poor Liddy -- but I kept my knife; stuck it up my sleeve."

"You have your knife still?" I cried. "Yet what good can it do?"

"We'll see. We might wriggle along by rocking ourselves till we got together."

We tried this experiment, and it was successful. A1though my hands were bound, I managed to pull the knife down from Sam's sleeve, and cut the ropes on his arms with it. Sam's hands being free the rest was simple, and in a few moments we stood erect, free in every limb.

"That's a brilliant stroke, Sam Hawkins. You seem to me not such a bad fellow," said the little man, figuratively patting himself on the back.

"Now the first thing is to see our surroundings, Sam, and get weapons," I said. We went to the door, and drew aside the skins which curtained it.

"Do you see something, Master Jack?'' whispered Sam. "As sure as I'm alive that thing leaning against the stone there is my Liddy!"

I was so glad to see Swallow standing near, safe and sound with Winnetou's horse, and Paranoh's chestnut, that at first I could hardly enter into the little man's joy.

"Sam, can you be depended upon?" I whispered.

"I don't know who knows that if you don't."

"You go to the right, and I will go to the left. Then cut Winnetou's and Harry's bonds quick. Are you ready?"

He nodded, with an expression on his face that promised success. "Now then."

We glided behind the two Indians guarding the prisoners, and came up to them unobserved. Sam stabbed one with such sure aim that he sank without a sound.

I, being unarmed, had to first snatch the other one's knife, but seized his throat as I did it, and the cry he would have uttered died out in a faint gurgle. A few rapid cuts freed the prisoners.

"Here, take weapons," I cried, seeing escape was impossible without them, and forcing the gun of the Indian I had killed into Winnetou's hands.

"Swallow, Swallow," I called, and the horse obeyed my voice. In an instant I was on his back, saw Winnetou mount his own, and Sam take Paranoh's.

"Come here quick in heaven's name," I cried to Harry, who had started after a horse. I seized his arm, swung him over my saddle, and turned toward the gate of the valley through which Sam had already disappeared.

It was a moment of the wildest excitement. Howls of rage filled the air, shots rattled, arrows whizzed around us, and through it all echoed the neighing of the horses on which the savages threw themselves. I was the last of the three, and could never say how I came through the narrow, winding pass without being overtaken by the enemy. Just as we were about to go around the bend a shot rattled behind us, and I felt Harry droop. He was wounded. "Swallow, my Swallow, go on," I urged the beast in anguish, and just as he had borne me away from New Venango, he now rushed onward.

The warm blood ran from Harry's wound over the hand with which I held him. "Can you hold out the rest of the way?" I asked.

"I hope so."

Again I urged the horse onward. He proved worthy of his name, for he skimmed on like a swallow, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground. As I looked

around I saw Paranoh close behind me, and even in that brief glance could distinguish the mad fury with which he pursued us, and redoubled my calls to the brave horse, on whose speed and endurance everything hung. Suddenly I saw Winnetou dismount, and take his stand behind his horse, as he loaded his captured gun. I followed his example, and laid Harry in the grass. There was no time for me to load, for Paranoh was too near, so I seized my tomahawk. Our pursuer marked our motions, but carried away with rage rushed on me, swinging his tomahawk. Then Winnetou's shot rang out. Our foe drew himself together convulsively, and fell from his horse. Winnetou turned over the lifeless body with his foot, saying: "The snake of Atabaskah will sting no more, nor call the Apache chief a Pima My brother may take back his weapons."

True enough; "the snake" carried my knife, tomahawk, revolver, and Henry rifle, and Winnetou's silver studded rifle hung at his saddle.

We rescued our property, and with Harry in my arms I once more remounted Swallow, while Winnetou sprang upon his chestnut. We did not relax our speed, and after a time all our pursuers were left behind us. The day was won.

As soon as possible we returned to the valley. We found Sam Hawkins there before us, and the anxiety I had felt for him was set at rest. One more joy awaited us as the crown of that crowded day. Winnetou went over to where Harry knelt by his father's body. The weeping boy held his father's head on his breast while the Apache examined the wound. Just as I came over to them I heard Winnetou exclaim: "Ugh, ugh, ugh! He is not dead; he lives!"