Pomp’s aim was deadly, and the big brute went to the ground in a heap with a bullet in the brain. The other grizzly seemed even more plucky than his mate. He rushed upon the Steam Man and essayed to hug him. But Pomp began to fear that some harm might be done the mechanism of the Man. So he started the Man ahead a few feet, then took almost point-blank aim and drove a bullet into the bear’s vitals. The brute rolled over in the throes of death. The contest was terminated then and there. Pomp was the victor. The darky naturally felt a bit elated to think that he had slain two grizzlies with so little exertion. “Sakes alibe, what will Marse Frank say to dat when he comes back?” muttered Pomp. “I fink he will hab dem critters’ skins fo’ his house in Readestown.” Pomp even thought of attempting to skin the bears himself. But a fresh emergency at that moment claimed his attention and he was unable to do so. In pulling the whistle valve of the Man it had not occurred to Pomp that any serious result could accrue therefrom. But as it happened, it was the certain way of letting his foes know of his presence in the vicinity. A roving party of the greasers, ten in number, had heard the whistle. At once they decided to descend upon the invention and if possible capture it. They bore down upon the spot full sail, and Pomp’s first apprisal of their presence was in the shape of a loud shout as the party swung into view from behind the clump of trees below. In an instant Pomp was at the dasher and the throttle rein. He saw at a glance the deadly peril which threatened. “Heavens!” he gasped. “I beliebe dat de rapscallions heerd dat ar whistle. I’d oughter know’d better.” The greasers saw that there was only one man aboard the Steam Man. This was enough for them, and they made a full charge upon it. Pomp saw that his only salvation was in retreat, so he swung the Man about and pulled wide the throttle. The Man started to rush out upon the plain. But the horses of the greasers were alongside, and one of them reached over and pulled the throttle rein. In an instant the throttle was closed. The Steam Man came to a halt. He still held the rein, shouting to his comrades to board the wagon. Pomp pulled the cord in vain to reopen the throttle. Finding he was unable to do this, he picked up a rifle and would have drawn a bead upon the fellow but for an incident which occurred to prevent. The door of the cage was suddenly hurled open. It had been left unlocked, and a greaser sprang into the wagon. Another was behind him, but Pomp fired at the first one. The bullet missed the fellow’s skull. “Caramba!” he gritted, rushing upon the darky. The pistol was dashed from Pomp’s grasp, and he was wrestling the next moment with his foe. Pomp knew that it was a desperate situation, and he fought savagely. But two more of the greasers were quickly in the wagon. In less time than it takes to tell it Pomp was overpowered.