Fear and hope tripped over each other, and the wilderness grew dim to his sight.

A myriad of little black specks danced before his eyes, and the blood was beating a quick march in his ears.
The two savages were motionless, as if carved of brown marble, and over all the wilderness hung silence.

Then out of the silence came a sharp report, and the warrior who stood erect, rifle in hand, fell to the earth, stricken by instant death.

Henry had come! His faithful comrade had not failed him! Paul shouted aloud in his tremendous relief and joy, forgetful of the second warrior.
The kneeling savage sprang to his feet, but he had made a fatal mistake.
To light the fire for the torture, he had left his rifle leaning against the trunk of a tree twenty feet away, and before he could regain it a terrible figure bounded from the bushes, the figure of a great youth, clad in buckskin, his face transformed with anger and his eyes alight.

Before the savage could reach his weapon he went down, slain by a single blow of a clubbed rifle, and the next moment Henry was cutting Paul loose with a few swift slashes of his keen hunting knife.
"I knew you would come! I knew it!" exclaimed Paul joyously and wildly, as he stood forth free.