Like an arrow shot from a bow, Queen sped across the plain, but there was a war-whoop just behind them and Beatrice knew she had been seen. The cry came nearer and she looked back. Fifteen or twenty Indians were in full pursuit and others, mounted, were following them. The girl's heart rose in her throat. "On!" she breathed--"on!" The unintelligible cries of the savages echoed and re-echoed in her ears, becoming perceptibly fainter as she rode on. Then there was an exultant yell and she turned quickly in her saddle. The mounted Indians had overtaken the others and seemed to be gaining upon her, but with a sudden spurt, Queen left them far in the rear. Beatrice laughed hysterically and the sickening taste of hot blood was in her mouth. Those on foot had given up the chase and one of the horses had fallen, but well in the lead, with his sides bleeding cruelly, Ronald's big bay charger thundered down the trail. An arrow sang past her, then another just missed her, and she leaned forward, close to the horse. Queen plunged on, then suddenly snorted and reared as an arrow struck her flank. Beatrice managed to loosen the barb and pull it out, hurting the horse badly as she did so, and in the meantime the enemy gained upon her. Another arrow, shot from the right, pierced Queen's quivering side, and Beatrice, hopeless and despairing, reined in long enough to tear it out. She was sick at the sight of Queen's blood-stained body and the savage who rode Ronald's horse was almost within range. She turned, held her pistol steadily, and waited. Queen was almost exhausted and breathed heavily. Spurred on to new effort, the other Indians emerged from a cloud of dust and galloped toward their leader. A tomahawk whizzed past her and sank into the sand. Then she fired, and with a cry of pain, the Indian dropped from his horse. Without waiting for the word, Queen started on at a furious pace, but in spite of it, Beatrice managed to load her pistol again. She looked back only once, for she could hear the hoof-beats behind her. Ronald's horse, with a new rider, was again in the lead, and the rest were close upon his heels. Inch by inch they gained upon her and mutterings of hideous portent reached her ears. Queen's strength was rapidly failing, and when an arrow struck her in the leg, the gallant little horse stumbled and fell. A tomahawk gleamed just beyond them and at the same instant an arrow grazed the girl's left arm. Blind with pain, she staggered to her feet, put the muzzle between Queen's pleading, agonized eyes, and fired. The horse rolled over, dead, and Beatrice loaded once more, thinking grimly, as she did so, that there was just time. She raised the pistol, felt the burning circle of the muzzle against her temple, and turned for one last look at the world that once had seemed so fair. The Indians were almost upon her, but far out on the plain was a man with neither hat nor coat, riding furiously, and the pistol fell from her nerveless hand.