Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1912)

THE TRAIL THRU THE HILLS 115 slowly now, because of the thick undergrowth. If Harry had been familiar with Indian fighting, he would have expected to be pursued by the evil-visaged savage who had attempted his life. The Indian was already in swift pursuit, and rapidly gaining on his enemy, the fingers of his right hand now and again seeking the keen tomahawk, to make sure it was there ! At length, on reaching an open space, Harry distinctly heard a con1 tinued fire of musketry, now and then accompanied by the terrible war-cry of the foe. Trixie, unurged, sprang forward across the open space toward a second grove, beyond which a mortal combat was being fought. This was a propitious move for the white man, for the Indian had stolen up to within thirty yards of him. When the horse had sprung into the open space, the Indian uttered a fierce growl and leveled his musket at the now exposed horseman. At the second of pressing the trigger, the Indian lowered the gun and grinned wickedly over the sudden thought that had come to him. Then he, too, sped rapidly across the open space and thence into the grove, grinning with malignant triumph. Harry found the going much easier in this second bit of woods, and in a few minutes discerned blue sky but a short distance ahead. The firing and yelling had grown in volume and could scarcely be more than a halfmile away. Just beyond the forest was a sharp rise of ground. Trixie cantered lightly up the incline until its summit was almost reached, when she hesitated and refused to go on. At first Harry tried to force her. Then, bearing in mind her sagacity, he dismounted and crept stealthily to the top of the knoll. He found himself looking over a deep gulch, with rough, precipitous sides, at least a half-mile wide. On the farther side were his friends fighting, almost hand to hand, against great odds. From the edge of the thicket peered a triumphant face, lighted by two bead-like eyes. The Indian had slung the musket over his back. Placing the tomahawk between his teeth, he began to crawl with the stealth and sureness of a snake, closer and closer toward his oblivious enemy. Harry sized up the situation before him, and at length decided to try his luck at sharpshooting across the gulch. He was the best shot by far among the pioneers and had little doubt, when he once found the range, but that he could pick off some of the enemy. He took up a position as near the edge of the precipice as he dared venture, and then, lying outstretched, he began testing the range. His first two or three shots had no other effect than bringing the combatants to a standstill, both alike filled with the dread of a supposed enemy. The fighting across the chasm became more guarded, which gave the desperate pioneers a much-needed respite. From his position above them, Harry had the advantage of seeing distinctly both friend and foe, tho hidden from each other. At his third shot an Indian sprang into the air and fell, severely wounded. He had found the range. He was overjoyed. He knew that he could hit an enemy in at least one out of every three shots. Again he brought one of them to the ground, and, half-filled with superstition over the fatal reinforcements from above, the redmen became demoralized and began to flee, being pursued and in many cases shot or cut down by the triumphant pioneers, who were as much mystified over this turn of events as their enemies. Harry was so elated over the tables being turned, and his share in it, that he was on the point of relieving his feelings in laughter, when he heard Trixie give a whinny of alarm. He had barely time to snatch the knife from his belt and rise to meet the bronze form that had suddenly loomed up behind him. He was too late to stay the descending tomahawk, which missed his head and shoulder and sank into his thigh with a sense of fire that almost brought him to his knees. But his own blade had found the In