ore I could turn my horse to flee, he was
close up to me. In the moonlight I easily recognised him--it was
Hissoo-royo the renegade.

"Slave!" shouted he, speaking in the Comanche tongue, and with furious
emphasis, "it is you who have planned this. Squaw! coward! you shall
die! The white captive is mine--mine, Wakono! and you--"

He did not finish the sentence. I still carried the Comanche spear; my
six months' service in a lance-regiment now stood me in stead; the
mustang behaved handsomely, and carried me full tilt upon my foe.

In another instant the renegade and his horse were parted; the former
lay levelled upon the grass, transfixed with the long spear, while the
latter was galloping riderless over the plain!

At this crisis I perceived the crowd coming up, and close to the spot.
There were twenty or more, and I saw that I should soon be surrounded.

A happy idea came opportunely to my relief. All along I had observed
that I was mistaken for Wakono. The Indians in the camp had cried
"Wakono;" the horse-guards shouted "Wakono" as I passed; the pursuers
were calling "Wakono" as they rode up; the renegade had fallen with the
name upon his lips: the spotted horse; the robe of jaguar-skins, the
plumed head-dress, the red hand, the white cross, all proclaimed me
Wakono!

I urged my horse a length or two forward, and reined up in front of the
pursuers. I raised my arm, and shook it in menace before their faces;
at the same instant, I cried out in a loud voice--

"I am Wakono! Death to him who follows!"

I spoke in Comanche. I was not so sure of the correctness of my words--
either of the pronunciation or the syntax--but I had the gratification
to perceive that I was understood. Perhaps my gestures helped the
savages to comprehend me--the meaning of these was not to be mistaken.

From whatever cause, the pursuers made no further advance; but one and
all, drawing in their horses, halted upon the spot.

I stayed not for further parley; but, wheeling quickly round, galloped
away from them, as fast as the mustang could carry me.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED.

THE LAST CHASE.

On facing towards the hill, I perceived the steed still not so distant.
His white body, gleaming under the clear moonlight, could have been
easily distinguished at a far greater distance. I had expected to see
him much farther away; but, after all, the tilt of lances, and the
menace delivered to the pursuing horsemen, had scarcely o