nd low, it was not possible to disobey.

March performed this somewhat endearing action in silent surprise,
whereupon the Wild Man introduced his left arm below the poor youth's
back, and with his right grasped him round the legs, and thus lifted him
from the ground and carried him away.

March experienced a sensation as if all his larger joints were being
dislocated, and felt disposed to cry out, but restrained himself with a
powerful effort. Presently his bearer stopped, and, looking round,
March observed that he was standing by the side of a horse.

"Hold on, lad, till I mount."

"You'd better let me down till you get up," suggested March.

"No," replied the singularly laconic individual.

Standing as he was, the Wild Man managed by raising March a little to
lay his left hand on the pommel of his saddle; next moment his foot was
in the stirrup, the moment after he himself was in the saddle, and a
touch of his heel sent his horse cantering away towards the mountains.

Had March Marston seen his deliverer at that moment, with his long hair
waving freely in the breeze, in emulation of the voluminous mane and
tail of his splendid horse, his thoughts regarding the Wild Man of the
West would have certainly returned more powerfully than ever. But March
did not see him, his eyes being shut, his lips pursed, and his teeth set
in a heroic attempt to endure the agonies to which he was subjected by
the motion of the horse.

In half an hour they reached a rocky defile that led up into one of
those wild, gloomy glens that are so characteristic of the Rocky
Mountains. Here the Wild Man had to check his pace and proceed at a
walk, thereby affording much relief to his wounded companion.

"Art sore i' the bones, lad?" inquired the stout horseman, looking down
at his charge as if he were a small infant in arms.

"Rather," replied March. "Don't you think it would be better for me to
ride behind you? I think I could manage to hold on."

"No, you couldn't."

"I fear I must be a terrible weight carried in this fashion," urged
March.

"Weight!" echoed the hunter with a quiet chuckle; but, as he did not
vouchsafe any further reply, March was left to interpret the expression
as he thought fit.

"I hope no bones are broken," inquired March in a tone of anxiety.

"Hope not," replied his captor.

We use the word "captor" advisedly, for March was so utterly unable at
that time, physically as well as morally, to resist the