But his efforts, as I feared they would be, were in vain.  A wild whoop sounded in my ears, and looking back I saw upwards of a dozen Indians in their war-paint--their feather-plumes and cloaks flying in the air, as they galloped forward on their mustangs over the rocky ground, sending the stones and dust flying away from their heels.  I expected every instant to feel one of those ugly-looking spears plunged into my back. One of the painted warriors was just about to finish my career, when I heard a loud voice shouting in an authoritative tone; and instead of transfixing me, he let the point of his spear fall, then, seizing me by the collar, dragged me up on his steed, and laid me across his saddle in front of him.  Another treated Mike in the same manner, in spite of his struggles to free himself.  I made no resistance, knowing it was useless to do so.