quired Booth, anxiously. "In the hand," replied
Hallowell; and, looking around, Booth noticed that although his right
arm was still thrashing at the now lagging mules with as much energy
as ever, through the fleshy part of the thumb was an arrow, which was
flopping up and down as he raised and lowered his hand in ceaseless
efforts to keep up the speed of the almost exhausted animals.

"Let me pull it out," said Booth, as he came forward to do so.

"No, never mind," replied Hallowell; "can't stop! can't stop!" and up
and down went the arm, and flip, flap, went the arrow with it, until
finally it tore through the flesh and fell to the ground.

Along they bowled, the Indians yelling, and the occupants of the little
wagon defiantly answering them, while Booth continued to struggle
desperately with that empty pistol, in his vain efforts to load it. In
another moment Hallowell shouted, "Booth, they are trying to crowd the
mules into the sunflowers!"

Alongside of the Trail huge sunflowers had grown the previous summer,
and now their dry stalks stood as thick as a cane-brake; if the wagon
once got among them, it would be impossible for the mules to keep up
their gallop. The savages seemed to realize this; for one huge old
fellow kept riding alongside the off mule, throwing his spear at him and
then jerking it back with the thong, one end of which was fastened to
his wrist. The near mule was constantly pushed further and further from
the Trail by his mate, which was jumping frantically, scared out of his
senses by the Indian.

At this perilous juncture, Booth stepped out on the foot-board of the
wagon, and, holding on by a bow, commenced to kick the frightened mule
vigorously, while Hallowell pulled on one line, whipping and yelling at
the same time; so together they succeeded in forcing the animals back
into the Trail.

The Indians kept close to the mules in their efforts to force them into
the sunflowers, and Booth made several attempts to scare the old fellow
that was nearest by pointing his empty revolver at him, but he would not
scare; so in his desperation Booth threw it at him. He missed the old
brute, but hit his pony just behind its rider's leg, which started the
animal into a sort of a stampede; his ugly master could not control him,
and thus the immediate peril from the persistent cuss was delayed.

Now the pair were absolutely without firearms of any kind, with nothing
left except their sabres and valises, an