Nate parted the weeds quietly, his nerves on the raw edge, his eyes darting right and left.  Seven yards into the strip he noticed a break in the vegetation a few more yards in front of him.  Puzzled, he warily stepped forward until he could see that the break was actually a drop-off, the top of an earthen bank that blocked from his view whatever lay below.
   Exercising extreme caution, Nate moved closer to the rim of the bank.   He heard a guttural cough, then the distinct whine of an infant.  The baby was down there!  Eager to save the child, Nate dashed forward and took in the scene twelve feet below.
   The mountain lion stood in the middle of a secluded gully.  At its huge feet rested the cradleboard.  The lion was eyeing the baby hungrily and might tear into it at any moment.
   Nate took a hasty bead on the cat's head, hoping to end the menace with one shot.  He began to steady his rifle when he felt his left foot slip out from under him.  Startled, he realized he was going over the bank....

   A commotion erupted, and Nate heard much thrashing and flailing.  The scuffle was punctuated by the low growl of a beat and the strangled cry of a man.   Suddenly, quiet descended once more.
   What the blazes was going on out there?  Nate wondered as he skirted the end of the thicket, trying to outflank the Indians on the right.  His elbow struck a thin dead branch lying on the ground and it broke with a sharp crack.
   Fuming at his stupidity, Nate rose into a crouch and dashed to the right.  The Indians were bound to have heard and would easily pinpoint his position.   He must put distance behind him or find a hiding place.
   One moment he was adroitly weaving among the trees; the next someone hurtled out of the night and slammed into him from the rear.  He was knocked forward, onto his knees, and when he frantically twisted to see his attacker he saw a tall warrior armed with a knife--a knife that streaked at his face.