I had by this time discovered that they were not practising for mere sport. It was a _game_, and bets were laid, upon it. Apart upon the plain, the stakes were placed, consisting of saddles, robes, weapons, and the plunder of the emigrant waggon. Horses also were picketed near--surplus animals--that were betted against one another: whether in many separate wagers, or all forming a grand "pool," I could not determine. My own scalp--I was uncertain whether I still wore it--was no doubt the chief object of the contest. It was the "cup," to be given to him who should place his bullet in that white circle upon my breast, and nearest the red spot in the centre! The guns being once more reloaded, the firing recommenced, I saw that only one shot was allowed to each; and this only to those who had entered a stake. The condition gave me an opportunity of experiencing my apprehensions in different degrees: since, according to the apparent adroitness or clumsiness of the marksman, my fears of being hit were greater or less. Strange to say, before a dozen shots had been fired, _I no longer wished them to miss_! The dread ordeal, so oft repeated, was too terrible to be borne. I was sustained by no hope of ultimate escape. I knew that the fiends would continue firing, till some one of them should finish me by a fatal shot; and I cared not how soon it should be sent. Nay, I even desired that it should come quickly. Death was preferable to the agony I was enduring. CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR. A HUNDRED DEATHS. For a full hour was the pitiless pastime continued--during which at least fifty shots had been fired at my person. The truculent chieftain had threatened me with a hundred deaths. He was fulfilling his threat to the letter; for, notwithstanding the unskilful practice, I felt, on the eve of each discharge, a certain creeping of the flesh, and curdling of the blood, as if that moment was to be my last. If I had not yet died a hundred times, for at least so many had I felt all the sensations that should precede actual death. In truth over a hundred times: for although but fifty shots had been fired, twice as often had the old guns snapped or flashed in the pan; and each of these was preceded by its especial pang. I had not escaped altogether unscathed: I had been hit in two or three places--in my arms and limbs. Blood was running down my legs, and creeping over my feet. I could feel it warm and wet, as it trickled between my toes. In a little hollow of the rock, directly in front of me, a crimson pool was collecting. The wounds could not be severe: since I scarcely felt them. Perhaps only the crease of a bullet? A scratch would be sufficient to cause the effusion of the blood--copious though it appeared to be; and I felt certain that no bone had yet been broken--that no vital part of my body had been touched.