nemies would be thrown to the rear.

The next moment Whirlwind burst out of the ravine into the open
country, and in the same instant came face to face with another
horseman. He was the Assiniboine chieftain, who alone had ridden hard
along the side of the canyon on the ground above, in order to head off
the flying fugitive, and had arrived just in time to do so. He scorned
to take any companion with him, for he feared no living man and was
sure of overcoming the audacious stranger that had roused his fury.

The Assiniboine must have heard the thunder of the approaching hoofs,
for he had checked his own horse, on which he sat awaiting the
appearance of the Shawanoe. When the latter caught sight of his face he
had his rifle at his shoulder and was in the act of pressing the
trigger.

Deerfoot saw he had no time to use his own weapon, for quickly as he
might aim it the other would be discharged first. In the language of
the modern West, the Assiniboine "had the drop" on the Shawanoe.

There was but one thing to do, and Deerfoot did it in the twinkling of
an eye. He flung his body to the other side of his steed, sustaining
himself by bending his toes over the base of the stallion's neck. When
I add that the foot with which he performed this remarkable bit of
horsemanship was the one with the sprained ankle, you may faintly
imagine the wrenching torture he suffered. Only by a superhuman effort
did he keep control of his senses.

The Assiniboine fired at the moment of the lightning-like shift of
position, and Deerfoot heard the zip of the bullet as it sped across
the space covered less than a second before by his body.

There is a lurking devil in the most saintly disposition, and that
which slumbered in the breast of the young Shawanoe now flamed to a
white heat. Swinging back to the upright posture he called:

"Now, Whirlwind, run him down!"

[Illustration: "Now, Whirlwind, Run Him Down."]

The stallion felt the pressure of the knees, understood the command,
and ablaze with rage, charged like a cyclone for the other horse. In a
flash he crashed into the animal, hurling him sidelong to the earth and
rolling him completely over from the terrific force of the impact.

But his rider was a fine horseman and leaped to the ground before the
collision. Whirling about he faced the Shawanoe, with knife drawn, for
there was no time to reload his gun.

He was now at the mercy of Deerfoot, whose weapon was loaded. But for