Niltci felt better. Big John was alive and could shoot, anyhow! He moved to a new position where he could command more of the rocks above. White-clad figures dodged instantly out of sight behind rocks as he appeared. They were all quite near him, not over forty yards off. All that was needed was some signal to precipitate a concerted rush. Niltci looked about him for help again. Only the silent lava wall and the surety that Sid was on watch up there gave him any hope at all. Well, it would soon come! All he hoped for was the chance of a few shots from the repeater before one of these buzzing Mauser bullets brought final oblivion. And then, far above on the mountain side, sounded the rapid belling of a hound! _Ruler!_ Scotty was coming, and he would take them _all_ in the rear! Niltci fingered his trigger eagerly as the musical notes floated nearer and nearer: “Come, white boy! Come!” he sang, in urgent Navaho chanting. A heavy repeating rifle opened up, its familiar cannonlike roars sounding sweet in the Indian lad’s ears. That .405 could outrange anything on the mountain, and Scotty was a dead shot! Yells and cries broke out all around him above. Men rose bewildered while Niltci emptied his repeater and Sid’s rifle spoke rapidly, shot after shot from the lava. The guerrillas were breaking, running. Like snakes they were creeping off to new points, out of reach of that heavy .405 whose bullets split the granite where they struck! Niltci felt that the psychological moment for attack had come. This whole movement was bearing off to the left now, the only place where the guerrillas could be safe from fire above and below. He leaped forward, darting from cover to cover and firing at every sight of a white figure among the rocks. Behind him he heard ringing Apache war whoops, and, looking back, saw the whole lava slope covered with buckskin-clad figures that had come from he knew not where. In a moment more his own mountain flank had swallowed them all up. Niltci gave a single answering cry and pressed on. Then he stopped, his heart stricken dead with sudden alarm, for a whirl of objurgations in Spanish raged below him and he saw a serapé-clad figure racing along under the crags of the base, headed straight for where Big John lay concealed! Niltci turned and flung himself down the mountain, exposing himself recklessly. To get to the wounded Big John before this demon could finish him--ah, might the Great Mystery lend him wings! In three leaps he had reached the rocks above the lair. He jumped out, rifle at shoulder, unmindful of anything but not to be too late. Niltci got one glimpse of Vasquez, standing with rifle poised, his eyes glaring with surprise, for instead of Sid--the boy with the Red Mesa plaque--Big John lay facing him, lying on his side, cool resolution shining steadfastly in his eyes, the big revolver poised in a hand that nevertheless shook with weakness.