His only hope was that the Indians might be delayed in searching the woods around their encampment until he could gain a sufficient start; and this hope vanished almost as soon as formed. They had scarcely ridden three miles, when the thunder of many hoofs came rolling down the ridge. The enemy were in full chase, scarcely a mile behind. “We must try the virtue of speed,” said Edgar; dashing his spurs into his horse’s flanks, he sprang away at a rate which gave promise of soon distancing the pursuers. Their footsteps soon died away in the distance; and, could he have kept up the pace at which be started, the captain hoped he might reach the river before being overtaken. But at the end of a few minutes, he was forced to draw his rein. The ridge had grown so narrow, that the ravines on either hand intersected each other, and broke it into steep and dangerous gorges. At the first of these his horse came to a dead halt, and neither voice nor spur could force him forward. Edgar sprang to the ground, and looking over the precipice, shuddered at the leap he had been endeavoring to take. A hollow, whose bottom he could not see, cut directly across his path, and extended both to the right and left, farther than his eye could penetrate. “They are coming, John!” exclaimed Jane, springing to the ground; and he had scarcely time to lead his horse a few yards to the left, when twelve or fifteen Indians dashed furiously up, and, like him, came to a sudden halt. He could plainly see the dusky outlines of their forms, riding back and forward, searching for a crossing. He drew Jane, whose white dress might betray them, behind a tree, and breathlessly awaited their motions. At a word from the chief they all turned directly toward him. He seized Jane by the arm, and dropping his horse’s rein, sprang down the precipitous bank. A fearful yell from the pursuers told him that he was seen; and a rush and a scramble, regardless of the crumbling bank, brought them almost upon him. “Run, Jane! Down the ravine—run!” he exclaimed, and bringing his rifle up, the foremost warrior fell to the ground, pierced through the head. Another yell, more fearful than the first, heralded a wild spring upon him. But the ranger was more agile than any savage; with one bound he gained a tree, and before they had recovered from their confusion, his rifle was reloaded. Slowly he began to climb the bank—but his first movement was observed, and again they rushed toward him. He turned and fired his last shot—another savage rolled groaning down the bank. But the odds were too great. His enemies were too near to allow his again charging his gun, and an attempt to retreat up the steep ascent would be instant death. He gave himself up for lost—but, drawing his knife, resolved to die fighting to the last.