Curly watched Glen’s every movement, and seeing how weary she was becoming trusted to catch her off guard, spring forward, strike the revolver from her hand, and seize her in his arms before she could shoot.  This was his only hope, but whenever he was on the point of making the desperate attempt, the stern word of command and the slightly lifted weapon caused him quickly to desist.  Glen seemed to divine his purpose, and always checked him in time.

So desperate did Curly at length become that he decided to throw all caution to the wind.  He was very anxious over Dan’s tardiness in returning, and feared lest his scheme had failed.  He knew full well that if Jim Weston should suddenly appear and find him in such an embarrassing situation it would go hard with him.  It would be death, anyway, without any chance of defending himself.  He knew how furious Weston would be at the attempt made not only upon his own life but upon his daughter’s honor.  The perspiration poured in great beads down his face as he thought of this.  Glen saw his agitation, and attributed it to the heat of the sun and weariness.  She little knew what was passing through the villain’s mind.  And, in fact, she never learned, for at this critical moment Sconda bounded from the forest and stood by her side.  A cry of joy escaped Glen’s lips as she beheld her deliverer and knew that she was saved.

In a twinkling Sconda grasped the situation, and with a terrible roar of rage be brought his rifle to his shoulder and would have shot Curly where he stood, had not Glen leaped to her feet and laid her hand firmly upon the smooth barrel.

“Don’t shoot!” Curly yelled, wild with terror, ere Glen could say a word.  “Fer God’s sake, let me go!”

But the enraged Indian was not easily diverted from his purpose, and it was only with much difficulty that Glen was able to make him listen to reason.

“Curly bad,” he argued.  “Curly all same black bear.  Ugh!”

“I know that, Sconda,” Glen agreed.  “But I want you to mind me now, and let him go.  Search him, and take his gun.”

Very reluctantly Sconda obeyed, and in a few seconds he was holding in his hand Curly’s revolver and a big, sharp, dangerous knife.

“There, I feel safer now,” and Glen breathed a deep sigh of relief.  “Take him away, Sconda,” she ordered.  “I want to get him out of my sight.”

As Sconda seized the wretch roughly by the arm, and was about to hurry him away, Curly emitted a cry of fear, and turned toward Glen.

“He’ll kill me!” he yelled.  “I can see it in his eyes.  He’ll get me down among the trees an’ shoot me!  Don’t let him take me!  Save me!  Fer God’s sake, save me!”

“You need not be afraid of Sconda,” Glen replied, while her eyes flashed with contempt.  “He is a true man, and respects me and my orders.  He will not harm you, so you need not fear him.  But there are others you might well fear should they Hear of what you have done to-day.  That is all I have to say.  Take him away, Sconda.”