emigrant waggon. Horses also were picketed
near--surplus animals--that were betted against one another: whether in
many separate wagers, or all forming a grand "pool," I could not
determine. My own scalp--I was uncertain whether I still wore it--was
no doubt the chief object of the contest. It was the "cup," to be given
to him who should place his bullet in that white circle upon my breast,
and nearest the red spot in the centre!

The guns being once more reloaded, the firing recommenced, I saw that
only one shot was allowed to each; and this only to those who had
entered a stake. The condition gave me an opportunity of experiencing
my apprehensions in different degrees: since, according to the apparent
adroitness or clumsiness of the marksman, my fears of being hit were
greater or less. Strange to say, before a dozen shots had been fired,
_I no longer wished them to miss_! The dread ordeal, so oft repeated,
was too terrible to be borne. I was sustained by no hope of ultimate
escape. I knew that the fiends would continue firing, till some one of
them should finish me by a fatal shot; and I cared not how soon it
should be sent. Nay, I even desired that it should come quickly. Death
was preferable to the agony I was enduring.

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

A HUNDRED DEATHS.

For a full hour was the pitiless pastime continued--during which at
least fifty shots had been fired at my person. The truculent chieftain
had threatened me with a hundred deaths. He was fulfilling his threat
to the letter; for, notwithstanding the unskilful practice, I felt, on
the eve of each discharge, a certain creeping of the flesh, and curdling
of the blood, as if that moment was to be my last. If I had not yet
died a hundred times, for at least so many had I felt all the sensations
that should precede actual death. In truth over a hundred times: for
although but fifty shots had been fired, twice as often had the old guns
snapped or flashed in the pan; and each of these was preceded by its
especial pang. I had not escaped altogether unscathed: I had been hit
in two or three places--in my arms and limbs. Blood was running down my
legs, and creeping over my feet. I could feel it warm and wet, as it
trickled between my toes. In a little hollow of the rock, directly in
front of me, a crimson pool was collecting. The wounds could not be
severe: since I scarcely felt them. Perhaps only the crease of a
bullet? A scratch would be suf