He found himself speedily on the broad
of his back, gasping for breath with which to keep up his vocal
defiance, staring up into the glaring, vengeful black eyes of his
furious and triumphant foeman. And then in one sudden, awful moment he
realized that the Indian was reaching for his knife. Another instant it
gleamed aloft in the moonlight, and the poor lad shut his eyes against
the swift and deadly blow. Curses changed to one wordless prayer to
heaven for pity and help. He never saw the glittering blade go spinning
through the air. Vaguely, faintly he heard a stern young voice ordering
"Hold there!" then another, a silvery voice, crying something in a
strange tongue, and was conscious that an unseen power had loosed the
fearful grip on his throat; next, that, obedient to that same
power,--one he dare not question,--the Indian was struggling slowly to
his feet, and then for a few seconds Kennedy soared away into cloudland,
knowing naught of what was going on about him. When he came to again, he
heard a confused murmur of talk about him, and grew dimly aware that his
late antagonist was standing over him, panting still and slightly
swaying, and that an officer, a young athlete, was saying rebukeful
words.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47