As he approached, two tall barbarians suddenly sprang from the cover, where they had been taking their drunken slumbers; and, responding with exulting whoops to the cries of the others, they leaped forward to secure him.

He turned aside, running downwards to where a lonely wigwam, surrounded by trees, offered the concealment of its shadow.

But he turned too late; a dozen fierce wolf-like dogs, rushing from the cabin, and emboldened by the cries of the pursuers, rushed upon him, hanging to his skirts, and entangling his legs, rending and tearing all the while, so that he could fly no longer.

The Indians were at his heels: their shouts were in his ears; their hands were almost upon his shoulders.

He stopped, and turning towards them with a gesture and look of desperate defiance, and still more desperate hatred, exclaimed,--"Here, devils! cut and hack! your time has come, and I am the last of them!" And holding Edith at the length of his arm, he pulled open his garment, as if to invite the death-stroke.
But his death, at least at that moment, was not sought after by the Indians.