The struggle was most violent. The Indian gasped, and groaned, and writhed, and sought to free himself from the grasp of his assailant. But Solomon’s grip could not be shaken off. He devoted all his strength to that one thing, and did not waste any of his energies in any useless efforts. The Indian’s struggles grew weaker. He was suffocating from that grasp on his throat. Had he been younger, he might have overpowered Solomon; but he was an old man himself, perhaps quite as old as Solomon, and therefore he was not so superior in strength as might be supposed. And now a mighty feeling of triumph swelled through Solomon’s heart, and chased away the furious impulse that had animated him to this assault. The fainting efforts and the relaxing limbs of his enemy showed that the victory was his. A softer feeling now came over him, mingling with his triumph--he thought of the boys whom he had saved. He turned his head and raised himself slightly. “Nebber you fear, chil’en,” he said--“he do you no harm now.” Suddenly the Indian made one last convulsive effort. Had Solomon not been speaking to the boys he could have resisted even this last throe of despair; but as it was, his attention was for the moment distracted, and he was taken by surprise. The Indian tore himself loose from Solomon’s grasp, jerked himself up by a mighty effort upon one knee, and threw himself free from his assailant. Both were now on their feet, facing one another, panting heavily. Once more the fury of the fight raged in Solomon’s heart. He stood poised--he prepared for a spring. The Indian’s strength lay in his madness; the strength of Solomon lay in his devotion to the boys--in the frenzy of his love and anxiety for their safety. The boys came forward. This time they would not let Solomon fight their battle. They would assist him, and lend all their united strength to crush their savage assailant. It was one common impulse, part of self-preservation, part of regard for Solomon, that animated them, and they sprang to his side and waited. All this was the work of a moment. Another moment and Solomon would once more have made his tiger-spring, and flung himself upon the madman. But that moment had sufficed for the Indian to take breath, and to receive a new impulse. This, time it was not hate or destructive fury. It was terror. The terrible struggle from which he had escaped with such difficulty had given a new turn to his frenzied thoughts. Fear overmastered him. A stifled exclamation escaped him. He started back. Then he turned and ran. He ran for his life; and in a few moments he had passed out of sight, and was lost amid the gloom of the forest and the night. VII. _Passing the Night.--On Guard.--The watchful Sentinel.--Plans.--Through the Woods.--The winding River.--Fishing.--The overcast Sky. Arrival of Pat with startling Tidings.--A useless Search._ FOR a few moments the whole party stood, confounded by this new and sudden turn which events had taken.