Nate tensed his arms and legs, then tugged on the lance with all of his strength.  To his amazement, the shaft came out easily, so easily he lost his balance and fell onto his buttocks.  He flung the spear to the ground, then wiped his blood-soaked hands on the grass.
   Sitting Bear was in terrible torment.  He grunted, closed his eyes, and bent in half.
   Drawing his knife, Nate stood and ran to the Ute he's shot.  The man wore leggings, and Nate swiftly cut strips of buckskin to use for bandages.   Holding them in his left hand, he raced back to his friend and frantically attempted to stop Sitting Bear's life fluid from gushing forth.  All his efforts were unavailing.  The buckskin strips became drenched.  Nate stood, about to cut more, when the drumming of hooves arose to his rear.  Whirling, he was stunned to discover another Ute bearing down on them....

   Nate instinctively raised the Hawken and went to fire, but in a flash of insight he realized the sound of the shot would carry to the Blackfeet and might lead them to his location.  Instead of squeezing the trigger he darted to the right and dived for the ground.  In his ears drummed the pounding hooves of the warrior's mount, and a second later something brushed his right shoulder and thudded into the earth at his side.
   A tremendous whoop issued from bloodthirsty lips as the Indian bore down on him.
   Rolling to the left, Nate tried to push erect.  A heavy body slammed onto his back, stunning him, driving him down again, and he lost his grip on the rifle.  Knees gouged him in the spine and strong hands looped around his chin from behind.  He dimly comprehended the man was trying to break his neck....