one’s actions are involuntary, machine-like, as if life itself, hovering by a thread, protects itself in its own manner without thought or reasoning on the part of the human creature it animates.  Rod neither thought nor reasoned; without any motive on his own part, he flung himself face downward upon the cabin floor.  And the move saved him.  With a guttural cry the savage leaped toward him, struck out with his knife and missed, stumbled over the boy’s prostrate form and fell beside him.

Months of hardship and adventure in the wilderness had made Rod as lithe as a forest cat, his muscles like steel.  Without rising he flung himself upon his enemy, his own knife raised in gleaming death above the savage’s breast.  But the Woonga was as quick.  Like a flash he struck up with one of his powerful arms and the force of the blow that was descending upon him fell to the earth floor.  In another instant his free arm had encircled Rod’s neck, and for a few brief moments the two were locked in a crushing embrace, neither being able to use the weapon in his hand without offering an advantage to the other.

In that respite, which only death could follow, Rod’s brain worked with the swiftness of fire.  He was lying face downward upon his enemy; the Woonga was flat upon his back, the latter’s knife hand stretched out behind his head with Rod’s knife hand locking it.  For either to strike a blow both of their fighting hands must be freed.  In the first instant of that freedom, the savage, with his arm already extended, could deliver a blow sooner than his antagonist, who would have to raise his arm as well as strike.  In other words, by the time Rod’s knife was poised his enemy’s would be buried in his breast.  With a curious thrill the white youth saw the fearful odds against him in their position.  If he remained clutched in the Indian’s embrace there would be only one end.  He would die, and Minnetaki would be more than ever in the power of her captor.

There was only one chance now, and that was to break away, at least to free himself enough to get hold of his revolver.  He was nerving himself for the strain when, turning his head a trifle sidewise, he saw Minnetaki.  The girl had risen to her feet, and Rod saw that her hands were bound behind her.  She, too, realized the disadvantage of Rod’s position in the contest, and now with a thrilling cry she sprang to the outlaw’s head and stepped with all her weight upon his extended arm.

“Quick, Rod—­quick!” she cried.  “Strike!  Strike!”

With a terrible yell the powerful savage wrenched his arm free; in a last superhuman effort he swung his knife upward as Rod’s blade sank to the hilt in his breast, and the blow fell with a sickening thud under Rod’s arm.  With a sharp cry the young hunter staggered to his feet, and the Indian’s knife fell from him, red with blood.  Making an effort to control himself he picked up the knife and loosed the captive girl’s arms.