“Too weak—too weak! I’m at their mercy. Ah! Duke, old fellow, our time has come—for you will die fighting for me!” And closing his aching eyes, he lay gasping. Then came a thunderous rush among the bushes; and a half dozen savages stood within the cove, and as many rifles were pointed at the form of the prostrate and helpless man. Duke leaped at the throat of the nearest brave, and with him rolled upon the ground. At that moment a husky voice bellowed: “Stop, you cowardly curs! Would you murder a wounded and helpless man? Harm a hair of his head, and I’ll have the life of the last one of you! Didn’t I tell you he was to be taken alive? Out of my way!” It was the voice of Hiram Bradford. Douglas had just enough consciousness left to realize what was occurring, just enough strength remaining to call off his dog. Then he swooned. Bradford shoved the savages right and left, and bent over the form of the unconscious man. He placed his hand over Douglas’s heart and listened to the faint, irregular respiration. He gazed earnestly, sadly, upon the pain-contorted features of the young man. His own face was pale; his brown, sinewy hand trembled. Arising, he said to the savage band he commanded: “Start a fire; and be quick about it!” Then to the Pottawatomie, whom Duke had attacked and who was now threatening to kill the dog, as the animal lay whining at the feet of his senseless idol: “You shall not touch the dog. If you do, I’ll shoot you dead in your tracks. The brute did his duty—that’s all. He was protecting the life of his defenseless master. He is a noble specimen of his race. I command you to let him alone.” The Pottawatomie sullenly obeyed. Bradford again turned his attention to Douglas. “Poor boy!” he murmured softly to himself, his lips quivering. “Although you hate me, and would kill me now, perhaps, had you the opportunity—I love you. God knows I’ve wronged you enough in the past. Yet, when you had the chance, you did not kill me. Would you do it now? Heaven knows! Oh! Why didn’t you stay with me? Then this would not have occurred. Now you are wounded unto death—dying, I fear, before my eyes. No! you shall _not_ die. I’ll save you—I _will_! And who has done this monstrous deed? Is it the work of white men or red? Whichever it be, they shall pay for it, if I have to follow them to the ends of the earth. I vow it before God! Shot through the breast, there you lay in the ice and snow, until you regained consciousness. Then you pluckily made your way here and built a fire, bravely fighting against all odds. Somebody left you for dead—somebody deserted you. But your faithful dog stayed by you. I have hated the brute; _now_ I could kiss his surly face. Yes, my boy, I can read it all; you have left in the snow a record of your desperate fight for life!”