"No, no, old pard. I'm the man to stay," he answered, slipping from his saddle, for they were now at the entrance of the pass. "Good-bye. Take her in safe." It was no time for talking. The pursuers, rendered tenfold more daring by the prospect of the most coveted prize of all--a white woman--were almost on their heels, the rocks re-echoing their exultant yells. Yseulte's horse, maddened with terror and stimulated by a shower of blows from the scout, bounded forward at a tearing gallop. "Wait, wait! We cannot leave him like this! We must turn back!" she cried, breathless, but unable to control her steed, which was stampeding as though all the Sioux in the North-West were setting fire to its tail. "Help me! Help me to turn back!" she cried, in a perfect frenzy of despair. "We have deserted him--left him to die!" Left alone, the bold adventurer felt no longer any hope, but in its stead he was conscious of a wild elation. His death would purchase _her_ safety, and death was nothing in itself, but every moment gained was of paramount importance. Carefully he drew a bead on the charging warriors and fired. A pony fell. Another rapid shot. This time a human victim. This stopped their headlong rush, and still wheeling in circles they hesitated to come nearer. He glanced around. Overhead, the slopes, almost precipitous, offered many a possible hiding-place. He might even escape--but he was not there for that. He was there to hold back the enemy--till night, if necessary. The day wore on. The Sioux, who had drawn off to a distance, seemed in no mood to renew the attack. They were resting their ponies. Suddenly he saw a score of them leap on horseback again and ride rapidly away. What could this mean? A shadow fell between him and the light. There was a hurtling sound--a crash--and before he could turn or look up, the whole world was blotted out in a stunning, roaring, heaving sea of space. Then faintness, oblivion, death. CHAPTER THIRTY. "I WOULD RATHER HAVE DIED WITH HIM." Not till they had covered at least two miles could Yseulte Santorex regain the slightest control over her recalcitrant steed. In fact, in her fatigue and nervousness it was as much as ever she could do to keep her seat at all. At length, panting and breathless, she reined in and turned round upon the scout, who had kept close upon her pony's heels. "I am going back," she cried, her great eyes flashing with anger and contempt. "I would sooner die than desert a--a friend." "Not to be done, miss," was the quiet answer. "Vipan said to me the last thing--`Bill, on your life take her safe in.' And on my life I will. You bet." Yseulte looked at him again. A thought struck her and she seemed to waver.