“Keep away! keep away!” she screamed, retreating to the door and yet fearing to go out.

“Kiss me—­tomahawk pappoose!” said the savage, placing his hand upon the weapon.

The young wife placed her hands over her face and sobbed aloud.  She did not hear the cat-like footsteps of the savage, as he approached.  His long arm was already stretched forth to clasp her, when the door was darkened, a form leaped into the room, and with the quickness of lightning, dealt the savage a tremendous blow that stretched him limp and lifeless upon the floor.

[Illustration:  Dealt the savage a tremendous blow.]

“Move a limb and I will kill you!” shouted the young missionary, his face all ablaze with passion.  “Cora, has he harmed you?”

“No, no, no, Harvey; have you not already killed him?”

“Pity that I haven’t.  He is not fit to live.”

“Dear Harvey, you are carried away by your passion.  Do restrain yourself.”

Woman-like, the only emotion of Cora Richter was that of commiseration for the poor wretch that had been stricken down by the hand of her husband.  She saw the blood trickling from his face and knew that he was dreadfully injured.  The missionary, too, began to become more calm and collected; and yet, while regretting the occasion, he could but think he had done his simple duty to his insulted wife.  Had he been prepared as he entered the door, he would have shot the savage dead in his tracks.

Harvey picked up his rifle that lay in the middle of the floor, and approached the prostrate Indian.  After pushing and shaking, he gave signs of returning consciousness, and at length arose to his feet.  His nose had bled copiously, and one eye was “closed,” as if he had been under the manipulation of some pugilist.

The wife brought a basin of water, and offered a bandage, while Harvey proffered his assistance.  But the Indian, without speaking, motioned them aside, and made his way out the door.  On the threshold he paused a moment and looked back—­and that look Harvey Richter will remember to his dying day.

Both breathed freer when he had gone.  They then looked in each other’s faces a moment and the wife sunk into her husband’s arms.

“Did I not do right, Cora?”

“Yes; oh, yes; but, Harvey, this will not be the last of it.  You have made an enemy of that Indian, and he can never be made a friend.”

“Such is often the result of doing your simple duty.  Let us therefore trust to God and say no more about it.  Ah! here comes Teddy.”

The Irishman at this moment entered the door.  He was still under the influence of liquor though he made ludicrous efforts to conceal it.  The wife found opportunity to communicate to her husband all that had been told her, before the conversation had progressed far.  The peril which she had so narrowly escaped decided the missionary to be severely just with his servant.