Such an unequal contest could not last long. Dick and Roger were pulled to the ground by the many hands that gripped them. Struggling to the bitter end, they expected that some one of their red antagonists would finish them with a fell sweep of those flourished tomahawks; indeed, Dick shut his eyes in anticipation of such a tragedy, and before his inward vision there flashed one glimpse of the dear ones in the far distant home on the bank of the Missouri. But the blow did not fall. He could hear the excited voice of Lascelles haranguing the braves, and, opening his eyes again, Dick found that the French trader had interposed his arm between the threatening weapons and the two boys. Just what François was saying to his allies Dick could not tell, since he knew little of Indian talk, and nothing at all of the Blackfoot language. He could, of course, guess that Lascelles, for some reason of his own, did not wish the boys slain. It could hardly have been pity that influenced the trader, for he was a cruel man. Dick became aware of several other things just then. One was that Roger was keeping up his vain struggling, despite the fact that a couple of brawny braves were sitting on him. "Keep still, Roger," commanded Dick, realizing that the impulsive lad was imperiling both of their lives by his senseless actions; "you can never break away, and by keeping up that fighting you may force them to knock us on the head. We are prisoners, and there is no help for it." Roger stopped his writhing and beating with his fists, though the fact that he had to yield to the inevitable forced a groan from his lips. "Where is Mayhew?" asked Dick, noting that the scout did not seem to be near. Before Roger could frame any sort of a reply they heard a series of yells from a little distance, followed by a shot. "He must have managed to break away, Dick," exclaimed Roger, when he could get rid of the dirt that impeded his speaking; "and some of the Indians have followed after him. Oh, I hope he has not been killed!" "That didn't sound like it," Dick told him. "There was a deal of baffled fury in those Indian yells. Mayhew may get clear away, after all. He has no equal as a runner among all the men of the expedition." There was no time to say more, nor were the conditions by which the two boys were surrounded of a nature to invite conversation. Lascelles had apparently convinced those of the Indians who seemed most bent on finishing the white boys that it would be more to their advantage to hold them as prisoners or hostages, for reluctantly they dropped their uplifted weapons. That more than one of them did this under protest could be seen from the manner in which they eyed the prisoners, and shook their feather bedecked heads. "Get up, you American swine!" said Lascelles, accompanying his remark with a kick from the toe of his moccasin.