But it was successfully withstood. Alfred felt a degree of steadiness return to him with the excitement and the change of weather. The Winchester spat as carefully as before. Suddenly it could no longer be doubted that the line was beginning to hesitate. The outlaw saw it, too. "Give it to 'em good!" he cried. Both men shot, and then again. The line wavered. "Two more shots will stop 'em!" cried the road-agent, and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked against an empty chamber. "I'm done!" he cried, hopelessly. His cartridges were gone. Alfred laid his own Winchester on the ground, turned over on his back, and puffed a cloud of smoke straight up toward the sky. "Me, too," said he. The cessation of the shooting had put an end to the Indians' uncertainty. Another moment would bring them knowledge of the state of affairs. "Don't get much outen my scalp, anyway," said Alfred, uncovering his bald head. The sentinel on the distant ridge was riding his pony in short-looped circles and waving a blanket in a peculiar way above his head. From the grass nine Indians arose, stooped, and scuttled off like a covey of running quail. Over by the fires warriors were leaping on their ponies, and some were leading other ponies in the direction of the nine. An air of furtive but urgent haste characterised all these movements. Alfred lent an attentive ear. "Seems a whole lot like a rescue," he remarked, quietly. "I reckon th' boys been followin' of my trail." The stranger paused in the act of unhobbling the one remaining pony. In the distance, faintly, could be heard cheers and shots intended as encouragement. "They's comin' on th' jump," said Alfred. By this time the stranger had unfastened the horse. "I reckon we quits," said he, mounting; "I jest nat'rally takes this bronc, because I needs him more'n you do. So long. I may 's well confide that I'm feelin' some glad jest now that them Injins comes along." And then his pony fell in a heap, and began to kick up dirt and to snort blood. "I got another, so you just subside a lot," commanded Alfred, recocking his six-shooter. The stranger lay staring at him in astonishment. "Thought you was busted on catridges!" he cried. "You-all may as well know," snapped Alfred, "that's long as I'm an officer of this yere district, I'm a sheriff first and an Injin-fighter afterward." "What the hell!" wondered the road-agent, still in a daze. "Them's th' two catridges that would have stopped 'em," said Alfred. IV THE RACE This story is most blood-and-thundery, but, then, it is true. It is one of the stories of Alfred; but Alfred is not the hero of it at all--quite another man, not nearly so interesting in himself as Alfred.