The Indian was rash in thus exposing his cranium to a concealed foe, and dearly he paid for that exhibition of rashness, for a ball from Runnion’s rifle brought him from his concealment, and he rolled with a death-groan to the dry bed of the ravine. “They won’t molest us now, for a spell,” he said, as he reloaded his rifle. “they’ll put their heads together and hatch out some kind of deviltry. They’ll change their tactics and try and take me alive. I doubt if they tried to kill me when they shot, for, you see, I’m worth a good deal now--more than any other one man in the valley.” This he said with a ghastly smile, and added, as he primed his weapon: “But, if it comes to the worst, girl, the red thieves will find themselves in possession of one of the deadest men in the world. D’ye suppose that I’m going to surrender and be hung like a dog by a lot of my own countrymen? Not much, girl! _I_ am not that kind of a man. So long as I have a bullet to spare, the red hounds shall have it and then comes the knife and death.” A terrible determination lurked about the criminal’s white lips, and again his eye rested upon the fissure that held his foes. The silence of death reigned around the place, and that silence boded ill for the besieged. The red-skins were plotting mischief, which soon manifested itself. Presently the Briton, who had taken advantage of the Indian’s council and examined the place into which he and the trader’s _protege_ had been thrown, glided to the girl’s side with an expression akin to despair visible upon his countenance. “This is a sorry cave for defense, girl,” he said, looking into Effie’s face. “It runs but a short distance back, and does not connect with other caves, as I thought it would. But, so long as they don’t attempt to smoke us out, we can defend ourselves; but if they attempt _that_, we have nothing to do but to perish.” An hour passed away in silence, and then a huge fiery ball, accompanied by a volume of smoke, fell past the mouth of the fissure, and a moment later the undergrowth was in flames. “My God!” cried the Briton, when his eyes divined the purpose of his foes. “They must have known that this fissure was a poor place for defense, and--look, girl, they are coming down upon us!” A yell, and the quick flitting of a number of red forms from the hole on the opposite side of the ravine, told the major that his enemies were certain of victory, and were approaching to aid the smoke in its work of securing the felon. The last savage paused a moment to draw the cock of his gun over a jagged rock in the mouth of the fissure, when the Englishman’s rifle cracked, and he fell a copse at the feet of his more successful comrades.