Bud's attention was centered on his immediate opponent, who was giving him plenty of battle, but he was not losing sight of the fact that his head was in imminent danger of being crushed at any moment. Over and over they rolled, each striving for a damaging hold, but both fighting silently. Then Bud got a grip on the Indian's throat, and their heads were close together. A glancing blow from the gun-butt partly paralyzed Bud's shoulder, but he clung to his choking grip on the buck's throat. The other Indian was striking oftener now, as though taking a long chance, but Bud was watching. The fight was slackening now. Bud's strangle-hold had caused the Indian's body to grow limp and his hands relaxed. Suddenly Bud threw himself away, as though trying to disentangle himself, but as the gun butt swished downward he jerked the Indian almost over him. [Illustration] Came the dull thud of hardwood on yielding bone. Quick as a cat, Bud flung his opponent aside, rolled over and sprang to his feet. The other Indian yelled and sprang after him, rifle upraised, thinking that Bud was about to escape, but instead of running away, Bud dug his toes into the soft dirt and came back like a charging moose. His shoulder crashed into the Indian's midriff and the rifle went spinning away. The shock threw Bud sideways, and he sprawled across the body of the second Indian, where he lay for several moments, gasping from the collision. But the other Indian did not get up; he was completely knocked out. Bud got to his feet and looked around. The wound on his head had opened again and his face was cut and bruised from the fight. His shoulder ached from the blow and he felt dizzy and weak, but lost no time in securing one of the rifles. He removed a belt of cartridges from one of the Indians and fastened it around his waist. The cabin was blazing merrily now and nothing could save it. Suddenly there came a shout from behind the building. Beyond the light of the burning cabin every thing was a black pall, but Bud raced headlong into it, trusting to luck to strike a trail. As he struck the brush tangle, almost beyond the light from the fire, he looked back and saw several forms running around the cabin. They halted at the Indians, talking loudly, but Bud waited no longer. Gripping his rifle tightly, he started running into the darkness of the trees. Then he stopped suddenly. From just beyond him came the unmistakable creak and rattle of a wagon, and the sound of a man's voice, talking excitedly. "Whoa!" The wagon stopped. "The whole damn thing's on fire!" "Well, whatcha goin' to do--stop here?" "Danged right. We don't know who's there." Came the sound of them getting down from the wagon. "Goin' to tie the team?" "Naw, they'll stand. Come on."