The Indians had not taken his knife from him, and hastily selecting his steed, the leather lariat was severed in a trice, and vaulting on his back, Swanson made a dash for life into the darkness.  The thundering of hoofs told him that the red devils were close after him.  Turning abruptly to one side he rode at right angles to his former course, and suddenly drawing up his horse he stood still.  The sound of the chase neared him, and presently he heard them sweeping past, the darkness completely shrouding himself and his horse from their keen eyes.

Leaping to the ground, he placed his ear to the earth, and the faint throbbing of the horse hoofs beating the ground grew fainter as his pursuers rode further away.

Mounting his horse again, he commenced slowly and stealthily to circumnavigate the camp, and it wasn’t until he had gained the opposite side, that he ventured to put his horse to a gallop.

He had never been in that section of the country before, but it did not matter so long as he could put a good distance between himself and his captors in which direction he rode.

The dawn of the next day found his horse loping along, Swanson keeping a sharp eye out for Indians.

He was satisfied that he had at last eluded pursuit, and turning into a clump of timber he tied his horse with the remnants of the lariat and threw himself on the ground near it.

All day long he slept, and as evening closed in he turned his horse from the timber and mounting a slight elevation near it, he gazed around for landmarks.  To his surprise, he recognized the country as that near his own ranche, and feeling the pangs of hunger in a most distressing degree, he urged his horse in the direction of the ranche.

He had ridden several hours, and he knew that he must be somewhere near his place, when, rising before him, he discerned the house.

Almost simultaneous with his discovery a wide sheet of flame burst from the roof and, dismayed and astonished, Swanson checked his horse.

A multitude of yells rent the air, and Swanson, turning his horse again fled before the avenging Cherokees, but a hissing whistling sound was heard, a long, writhing lariat shot out, and the noose, falling over Swanson’s shoulders, drew together with the run, and, lifted completely from the saddle, Swanson was thrown senseless to the ground.  A bucketful of water was dashed over his face, and recovering he saw the demon faces of Eagle Claw and his band surrounding him.

“My brother was cold and we started a fire that he might get warm.  He was lost and we made a light to guide him here.  We love our brother Swanson.  We would always have him with us,” jeered the Indian,

To this Swanson was incapable of replying.  His senses were benumbed and he hardly realized what was going on around him.  Staggering to his feet he reeled to and fro like a drunken man.