“Only to the woods! . . . It’s not far. Simm, remember what Mahaffey said.”

“No hope, boy. I’m done. . . . Go on—alone. Save yourself.”

Bell pulled at his bridle, slowing his horse. Wade had to follow suit, just managing by dint of effort to keep his chief from falling.

“We mustn’t stop!” cried Wade, tensely, looking back fearfully. “No riders in sight!”

“Got to. . . . It’s the end—boy.. . . Run for your life!”

“No,” flashed Wade, in frantic passion. He turned the horses off the road under a wide-spreading elm, and leaped off just in time to catch the lurching Bell. The chief sank under the tree to lean against it. His face was ashen white. There was dew on his brow and a terrible light in his eyes, a bloody froth on his lips.

“My God! . . . Simm!” burst out Wade, in terror.

“Shot clean through, boy . . . and I’ll go—with my boots on.