"He is making for the falls!" screamed Henry.
"What! do you think he means to jump over?" questioned Dave, in fresh horror.
"It looks like it. I reckon he's afraid if he's captured that we'll torture him."
This was probably the truth, and having glanced back once, to see if they were still pursuing him, the Indian kept on, until he was less than fifty feet away from the brink of the cataract.
"Oh, Dave—shall we—we shoot?" faltered Henry.
"We must!" was the quick answer. "It's our one chance to save Nell!"
Up came his gun, and up also came the weapons of Henry and several others of the party. Four reports rang out almost as one. The Indian staggered a dozen steps and pitched headlong, carrying little Nell down with him. Both lay perfectly still close to the brink of the cataract.
For the moment neither Henry nor Dave dared to go forward. Supposing one of those four bullets had found little Nell's body instead of that of the Indian?
It was Barringford who advanced, with several of the rangers. A glance showed him that the Indian was dead, with two bullets through the lower portion of his back. Little Nell lay beside the fallen
