The circle had been formed: a double circle, to move in two directions, scudding ring reversed within scudding ring, the bowmen outermost. Around and 'round and 'round they galloped, yelling, gibing, taunting, shooting so malignantly that the air was in a constant hum and swish. The lead whined and smacked, the shafts streaked and clattered---- "Are you sorry I shot the chief?" I asked. Amid the confusion my blood was coursing evenly, and I was not afraid. Of what avail was fear? "I'm glad, glad," she proclaimed. But with sudden movement she was gone, bending low, then crawling, then whisking from sight. Had she abandoned me, after all? Had she--no! God be thanked, here she came back, flushed and triumphant, a canteen in her hand. "The mules might break," she explained, short of breath. "This canteen is full. We'll need it. The other mule is frantic. I couldn't touch her." At the moment I thought how wise and brave and beautiful she was! Mine for the hour, here--and after? Montoyo should never have her; not in life nor in death. "You must stop some of those fiends from sneaking closer," she counseled. "See? They're trying us out." More and more frequently some one of the scurrying enemy veered sharply, tore in toward us, hanging upon the farther side of his horse; boldly jerked erect and shot, and with demi-volt of his mount was away, whooping. I had been desperately saving the ammunition, to eke out this hour of mine with her. Every note from the revolver summoned the end a little nearer. But we had our game to play; and after all, the end was certain. So under her prompting (she being partner, commander, everything), when the next painted ruffian--a burly fellow in drapery of flannel-fringed cotton shirt, with flaunting crimson tassels on his pony's mane--bore down, I guessed shrewdly, arose and let him have it. She cried out, clapping her hands. "Good! Good!" The pony was sprawling and kicking; the rider had hurtled free, and went jumping and dodging like a jack-rabbit. "To the right! Watch!" Again I needs must fire, driving the rascals aside with the report of the Colt's. That was five. Not sparing my wounded arm I hastily reloaded, for by custom of the country the hammer had rested over an empty chamber. I filled the cylinder. "They're killing the mules," she said. "But we can't help it." The two mules were snorting and plunging; their hoofs rang against the rocks. Sioux to rear had dismounted and were shooting carefully. There was exultant shout--one mule had broken loose. She galloped out, reddened, stirrups swinging, canteen bouncing, right into the waiting line; and down she lunged, abristle with feathered points launched into her by sheer spiteful joy. The firing was resumed. We heard the other mule scream with note indescribable; we heard him flounder and kick; and again the savages yelled.