and turn left. Ride like
hell!"

It was all he had time for. He turned again in time to empty another
chamber of his gun into the stomach of an Indian, who came at him with an
upraised axe. Then, as the man rolled from his horse, he saw that the rest
had discarded their blankets--their wearing of which had probably saved
him--and now meant battle to the death.

He fully realized that he had no chance of escape, but he meant to give
them all he could before the end came. One Indian raised a queer old rifle
at him, but he let it drop before it was discharged. Another bullet had
found its billet in the pit of the man's stomach.

General, who had taken himself off when Rosebud departed, now returned to
the scene. He came with his fierce, canine worrying just as the rest of
the Indians charged their solitary adversary. His diversion helped to
check their onslaught, but only for a second. They had abandoned their
firearms in favor of their native weapons as they came.

Seth was powerless against such odds. There was no hope. His revolver
cracked and more than one man fell, but they closed with him, and, as his
last barrel was emptied, he felt the flesh of his left shoulder rip under
the slashing blow of an axe. His horse reared and for the moment took him
clear of the horde, and at the same instant, he heard the deep tones of
Rube's voice shouting to him. The Indians heard it, too. They turned, and
the fire of revolvers from this new direction greeted them. They could
murder one man, but reinforcements were different. It was enough. As Rube
and Charlie Rankin galloped into the clearing they broke and fled.

"Rosebud?" cried Rube in a voice of agonized suspense.

Seth had swung his horse round and led the way out of the clearing in the
track the girl had taken.

"Come on!" he cried. And, in a moment, the battle ground was deserted by
all but the wounded Indians.

CHAPTER XVII

THE LETTER FROM ENGLAND

"La, child, an' why did you go for to do it?"

Ma was bending over Seth, bathing the ugly flesh wound in his shoulder.
Her old eyes were pathetically anxious behind her spectacles, but her
touch was sure and steady. Her words were addressed to Rosebud, who was
standing by with a handful of bandages. The girl made no reply, and her
eyes were fixed on this result of her escapade. She was pale, and her
young face looked drawn. The violet of her eyes was noticeably dull, and
it was easy to see that she was strug