Gathering his muscles for the spring he suddenly launched himself like a
thunderbolt at the Indian. With the same motion he drew his revolver and
aimed a blow at the savage's head, for he knew that a single shot would
give the alarm and frustrate all his plans.
But the wily redskin was not to be so easily caught off his guard. With
a grunt of surprise he half turned to meet the attack, and the butt of
Bert's revolver dealt him only a glancing blow. Before the savage had a
chance to shout a warning, however, Bert had grasped him by the throat
with one hand, while he rained blows from the clubbed revolver on him
with the other. The Indian made a desperate attempt to loose his
assailant's hold and secure the knife from his girdle, but Bert's attack
was too fierce and deadly. In a few seconds the struggling form of the
brave grew limp and fell to the earth.
Without giving him a moment's further notice, Bert started out over the
desert at a swift run, guided by his almost instinctive sense of
direction. He ran quickly and lightly with the speed and silence of a
wolf, and he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving when he realized
that he was clear of the besiegers.
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