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It was a desperate man's one hope--no hope at all, indeed, for the odds

were fifty to one against him Swift as was his movement, and unprepared

as his tormentors were for it, just as the horse rose to his leap over

the wagon tongue, and as the rider flung himself low on his neck to

escape what he kneould coed back of him They all

heard the zhut! of the arrow as it struck Then, in a stu heap,

horse and rider fell, rolled over, as a sleet of arrows followed

through

Jackson rolled to one side, rose to his knees Molly Wingate chanced to

be near Her scissors, carefully guarded always, because priceless, hung

at her neck Swiftly she began to saw at the thong which held Jackson's

wrists, bedded almost to the bone and twisted with a stick She severed

the cord soered up Then they saw the arrow

standing out at both sides of his shoulder, driven through the muscles

with the hasty snap of the painted bowman's shot

"Cut it--break it!" he dee, and there was no one else to aid And staunch Molly Wingate, her

eyes staring again in horror, took the bloody steery that week But the shaft was

flexible, tough and would not break