in; Captain
Booth climbed forward to the step opposite the Indian and kicked the
nearest mule. He threw his revolver. It did not strike the Indian,
but it struck the pony, and the pony ran away.

Other Indians promptly came up. The captain threw both sabers, and
both scabbards. Wagon and mules were being surrounded, and still more
Indians were pursuing and closing in rapidly.

The captain had an idea. He tossed out his suitcase. The Indians
behind stopped, to inspect. They slit the suit-case open. In a moment
one was wearing the officer's sash tied around his head; another was
wearing the captain's dress-coat, another his best shirt, another his
undershirt and another his drawers! It was a funny sight. But others
came on.

"What they doing?" gasped the lieutenant.

"Wearing the clothes from my valise. Out goes yours, next."

"All right. Anything to gain time."

Camp Zarah was only a mile and a half before.

The clothes delayed the Indians behind; those already here were still
prodding at the mules. The lances proved too slow. A warrior fitted
an arrow, drew to the point, and let go. He had intended to kill a
mule, but he only wounded it in the fore leg. The blood spurted--ah!
Look out! Great Caesar! That was a lucky shot, for the wagon. The
other mule saw the blood, and smelled it. He bolted at such a gait
that he actually out-ran the Indians while he dragged the wagon and the
disabled mule!

Camp Zarah was in sight. Would they make it? Alas! The mules were
stumbling; were near spent. They had run a great race, but they could
not hold to it forever. The Indians were gaining rapidly.

"If we're taken, Cap, we'll fight; we'll kick, scratch, bite, till they
kill us. We won't stand for torture," panted the lieutenant.

"I agree."

The lieutenant yelled and whipped; the captain yelled and kicked the
wounded mule in the flanks; the Indians arrived, and prodded; the mules
dodged the lances--they seemed to know. Only a few yards from the
bridge did the last Indian pursuer give up the chase; and as the wagon
rattled over the corduroy the carbine of a sentry at the post sounded
the alarm.

"No need to drive so fast now, Hallowell," spoke the captain. The
jolting was terrific.

"I sha'n't stop till we're clear across," rapped the lieutenant.

The staggering mules white with lather and crimsoned with blood, the
wagon as full of holes as a sieve, they pulled in to the commanding
officer