Halfway up the little hill they let fly a vicious volley, the hard missiles crashing against the face of the rock, and showering down on backs and heads, some of them with painful force.  As we sprang to our posts of defence once more, the savages were already nearly within spear-length of us, and, to our disastrous surprise, delivered a second volley of stones directly into our faces.  One jagged rock glanced from off my rifle-barrel, striking me on the side of the head with sufficient force to send me staggering back against the stone slab.  Before I could regain place the Indians swarmed over the low wall, two of them, in spite of fierce struggles, bearing me backward to the ground.  Through a half-blinding mist of blood I beheld a carven war-club uplifted in the air, noted the face, distorted by passion, of the naked giant wielding it; yet, before I could close my eyes to the swift blow, there came a sudden flash of fire mingled with a sharp report.  As if stricken by a lightning-bolt the huge fellow plunged forward, his body across my feet.  Involuntarily I gave vent to a groan of despair, realizing that Madame, in an effort to preserve my life, had thrown away her sole chance to escape torture, or an existence worse than death.

The knowledge nerved me to renewed struggle, but ere I could rid myself of that body pinning me fast, others hurled themselves upon us, striking and snarling like a pack of hounds who had overtaken their quarry.  It would have been over in another minute; I already felt the grind of a stone knife-point at my throat, able to gain only a poor grip on the fellow’s wrist, when suddenly, sounding clear as a bell above that hellish uproar, a single voice uttered an imperative command.

Instantly each Indian’s face was upturned toward where such unexpected summons came, and, lying as I did flat upon my back, my eyes gazed across the narrow valley, to the summit of the cliff on the farther side.  There, solitary, a carven statue full in the glow of the westering sun, turning her garments golden, and lightening her rich profusion of hair into radiant beauty, stood a young woman of white face and slender, stately figure.  It was no time to note dress, yet I could not fail to observe the flowing white robe, draped from shoulders to feet, gracefully falling away from an extended arm, as she stood thus in regal poise looking down upon us.  There was a suggestion of despotic power in both face and posture, and the ring of stern authority spoke in the sound of her voice.

Twice she addressed our savage captors in brief sentences strange to my ears, once pointing directly at us, once with sweeping gesture up the valley.  A moment longer she remained motionless, bending slightly forward, permitting the rich, reddish gold of her hair to flash and shimmer in the sunshine; then she stepped swiftly back from the dizzy summit, vanishing instantly, as if dissolved in the haze.

CHAPTER XXI