the horse, feeling such a light weight and such a dainty
hand, was off like a bird. It was good to watch her as we drove far
behind; good to note her pretty figure as she came cantering back and
then shot forward for a long stretch across the plain. We were
approaching the sandy course--where few passengers were seen except
wagoners--and all was still and silent till we reached the fringe of
forest and heard the chattering scream of a flight of green parrots. But
above the chatter of the birds came another cry, and there, straight
ahead of us, but beyond our power to overtake, were _two_ riders. Mary
was one; the other, a big rough-looking fellow, on a powerful horse, had
dashed out from the thicket, caught her horse by the rein, and was now
taking it at a furious gallop. The thought flashed through my brain in a
moment. It was Buffalo Jim, and this was the scoundrel's revenge. The
thought was horrible. Mary was completely in the scoundrel's power,
unless she could throw herself out of the saddle and defy him until we
came up. At the pace they were going, to overtake them was impossible,
though we urged our nag to its utmost speed, and the wheels ploughed
swiftly through the dry sand. What was to be done? There straight
ahead, and getting further and further,--but plainly seen in that clear
sunny air,--the two horses kept up the furious pace. We could even see
the brave girl lean aside, and strike with all her might at the ruffian
with the light whip she carried. We could fancy his hoarse laugh of
defiance as he checked speed for a moment, and sought to wrest the whip
from her hand. My head was on fire, but neither Mr. Deane nor I spoke a
word; our eyes were simply fixed on the two figures before us, when
suddenly there seemed to be a third--right out there in the very middle
of the sunlit course. A figure like a bronze statue, which suddenly
appeared as it were from the ground,--and now stood in midway, and with
uplifted hand as though in warning. Would the horses ride him down? No;
there was a sudden check, a scurry, a wild yell, and Buffalo Jim threw
up his arms and went backward, rolling over in the sand, while Mary's
horse, released, darted forward for fifty yards or so, and was then
brought round. She met us half-way toward the place where the riderless
horse had dashed into the forest. There in the sand lay the ruffian
transfixed by a slender native spear, which had gone with unerring aim
through his neck; we had