"HE HAS MADE HIS LAST SCOUT."  
The perplexing question was settled by Brinton Kingsland's pony taking his bit in his mouth and speeding towards the camp of the supply train, as if driven by a hurricane.
 
The youth could not but feel conscience-smitten at this apparent desertion of a comrade in dire extremity, but there was no help for it. Besides, Jackson was right when he urged Brinton to lose no time in saving himself, since it was out of his power to help the imperilled scout.
 
The pursuing hostiles had now approached near enough to make their shots effective. The whistling bullets warned Brinton of his danger, so he threw himself forward on the neck of his pony, who rushed ahead with arrowy swiftness.
 
The clatter of hoofs made young Kingsland glance to his left: there was Billberry, the scout's steed, with neck outstretched, going madly on.
 
He had been touched by one of the flying bullets, and in his panic forgot the weak leg that already had delayed him to a fatal extent. His desperate burst of speed brought him alongside of Jack, whose rider, to his amazement, saw him shoot ahead at a pace which none of his kind could surpass, and none there could equal.
 
But his bridle-reins and stirrup-straps were flying in the gale caused by his own tremendous swiftness. Brave Nick Jackson had been shot from the back, and was fighting his last fight.
 
Brinton Kingsland tugged at the rein of Jack, and shouted a savage command in the same breath, The pony would not stop, but, slackening his speed, described a circle, which brought him round with his head toward the pursuers.
 
Pierced by one of the balls of the bucks, the scout fell from his saddle, but, recovering himself with wonderful dexterity, turned about, and with levelled Winchester bravely faced his foes.
 
The shots were rapid on both sides, and those of Jackson did much execution. But his fate was sealed from the first, and none knew it better than he.
 
"I can't stand that!" muttered young Kingsland, the moment he succeeded in facing Jack the other way; "I have already played the coward, though, heaven knows, I couldn't help it."
 
Something of his daring seemed to tingle in the veins of his pony; for, now that he was urged to return, he headed straight for the group of combatants, and shot forward at full speed.
 
Meanwhile the members of the supply train were not idle. They had descried the coming of two horsemen from afar, and were quick to recognise them as friends.
 
Had there been any doubt, it vanished at sight of the pursuing Indians behind them. Three were in the saddle in an instant, and scurrying away to the relief of the solitary man fighting for his life.
 
Brinton was not aware they were at his heels. He mistook the sound of their horses' hoofs for that of Jackson's animal, who, he supposed, had turned, and was rushing into the heart of the peril, as his kind will do when forced out of a burning building.
 
The first warning the youth received of the true state of affairs was when the approaching horsemen fired from behind him at the group crowding around and pressing the scout so sorely. But the hostiles were quicker than he to see their peril. They wheeled hastily, and, flinging themselves over the necks of their ponies, skurried in the direction of the Cheyenne.
 
It is the custom of the American Indians to carry off their dead and wounded. The latter probably looked after themselves in this instance, but in their haste the two that had fallen by the hand of Nick Jackson were left stretched on the ground.
 
An extraordinary incident now took place. In the furious struggle one of the hostiles had become dismounted. Disregarding the fate of his companions, or probably seeing that the brave scout had become so weakened that the peril no longer existed, he leaped from the back of his pony and dashed forward to give the white man his finishing-stroke. Before he could do this, the relief party were so close that he did not dare to tarry. He turned to remount his pony, but the animal had become panic-stricken in the flurry—it may have been that he was struck by a bullet—and was galloping off, as if for his own life. Furthermore, he made straight for the camp of the supply train, so that his capture was impossible.
 
But there were two other animals that had lost their riders, and, if he could secure one of these, he might yet save himself.
 
They, however, were galloping among the others riding for life toward the Big Cheyenne. The bucks, with less chivalry than the youth had shown in similar circumstances, gave no heed to the peril of their dismounted comrade, but sped across the prairie at the utmost speed of which they were capable.
 
Among them was possibly one who, seeing that the whites, instead of keeping up the pursuit, had halted around the fallen scout, gave a little thought to their comrade. This friend would not turn back himself, nor did any of the others do so, but with the palm of his hand the former smote one of the riderless ponies across the eyes and shouted a command in his ear. The horse checked himself with a cry of pain, reared, shook his head, and then, dropping out of the group running close together, wheeled and trotted toward the dismounted Indian.
 
The latter gave a thrilling exhibition of running. He saw that his only hope lay in reaching one of the ponies of his comrades that had basely deserted him, since to undertake to recapture his own animal must take him into the camp of his enemies. He therefore exerted himself to the utmost to overtake the party before the whites could overtake him.
 
Had there been none interested besides the three members of the supply train, all would have gone well with the buck, for, as we have said, they gathered around the fallen scout and gave their whole attention to him. But there was another, who resolved that this miscreant should pay for his unpardonable barbarity to a brave and fallen enemy. That one was Brinton Kingsland.
 
Quick to grasp the situation, after finding himself too late to help poor Jackson, he noted the solitary Indian, and believing him to be the one who had laid the scout low (though if he had not struck the actual blow, he was equally guilty), he compressed............