Never, if I live to be a hundred, shall I forget the next few minutes. He emerged through the opening, tiptoed to the bed, swung up the bar, and with a dull thwack brought it down just where my head might have lain. Again and yet again he thrashed and beat the tumbled clothes. Then, as he paused, from my place of concealment I squirted the whisky from the syringe straight into his eyes. Dropping the bar, he staggered and rubbed at his eyes, swearing horribly. As he reeled, half blinded, I sprang up and brought the bottle down with all my strength on his head, at the same time giving him a sideways push that sent him crashing through the opening to the floor below. [Illustration: “I SENT HIM CRASHING THROUGH THE OPENING TO THE FLOOR BELOW.”] I was trembling in every limb with excitement, but I managed to get my boots, hat, and coats on. Then I cautiously descended. I had no doubt that the fall had killed him, but I felt no pity; it was either his life or mine. Greatly to my surprise, however, the giant was still breathing. He lay huddled up at the ladder-foot, with blood on and about him. I tied his hands with a rope, and then, turning him on his chest, cut away the back part of his flannel shirt collar with his own villainous bowie-knife. Next, taking the small phial of vitriol from my case, I spilt a few drops on the back of his bare neck. The awful burning partly restored his senses, and he moaned. I had no compunction, but proceeded to tear the visored cap from his head. I have never seen such a fiendish face in all my wanderings! The lower part was covered with a thick jet-black beard and moustache, but the face, taken altogether, was that of a murderer--the most horrible, wolfish-looking visage I have ever gazed on. Like a cornered wolf, even as he slowly revived he struggled and snapped to break the cords that bound him, cursing savagely in his semi-drunken frenzy. Many a man would have shot him out of hand with his own weapon; but I could not bring myself to that. I had left an indelible mark on him, however, that he would carry with him to the grave, and should we ever meet again there could be no disguising those awful eyes and his enormous proportions. But, unless I killed or disabled him, it was obviously unsafe to remain in the cabin. The storm had now ceased, so taking the villain’s revolver, and leaving him struggling to unfasten his bonds, I set out to try to find my way to the Fort, hoping against hope that I should soon sight some familiar landmark. How long I blundered over the snow before I lost consciousness I do not know, but I remember it flashed upon me once that this was the dawn of Christmas Eve! Then I felt myself getting drowsier and drowsier. When I recovered my senses it had to be explained to me how I came to be in bed back at my old quarters at Fort Hayes, minus two toes, which I had bequeathed to “Jack Frost” during my stroll over the snow-clad prairies.