There, standing several yards away, was the shaggy-browed reprobate who had been felled by Crockett’s punch. This ruffian had evidently regained consciousness while Crockett was in the process of freeing my wrists, and—making his way stealthily towards the tree—had taken hold of the rifle, the muzzle of which was now aimed squarely at Crockett’s back!

Even before I could utter a warning, Crockett—perceiving the expression of utmost alarm on my countenance—quickly spun around, facing the cowardly villain just as the latter drew back the hammer of his weapon.

“No!” I shouted. With one determined stride, I stepped directly in front of the frontiersman. “I shall not permit you to slay my companion in so craven, so ignominious a fashion!”

“Step aside, ol’ hoss,” Crockett muttered grimly into my ear. “I will extinctify this reptile quicker than hell can scorch a feather.”

Shaking my head decisively, I declared: “Colonel Crockett, I owe you my life, which you have saved on several separate occasions. To shield you now from certain destruction is an obligation that I will not—that I cannot—shirk.”

“Why you damn blabbering pip-squeak,” snarled the shaggy-browed villain. “At this range, one ball’ll do for the both of you!” And so saying, he took careful aim at my bosom. I saw at once that his assessment of the situation was all-too-disconcertingly accurate. From so near a distance, a single bullet would pass directly through my heart and enter the body of my companion, who was positioned directly to my rear.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the fatal roar of the firearm. In that instant, several things occurred in swift succession. First, I felt a firm hand grab me by the shoulder and fling me so violently to one side that I went crashing to the ground. Almost simultaneously, I heard a whooshing in the air directly above me. This was immediately followed by an anguished cry of pain from the would-be assassin and, an instant later, by the explosive discharge of the rifle.

Glancing up, I saw an astonishing sight: the shaggy-browed assailant leaning heavily against the tree trunk, his smoking rifle aimed directly into the air. He was staring down with a look of utter incredulity at the center of his chest, from which the handle alone of Neuendorf’s dagger protruded, the blade itself being entirely embedded in his body. A moment later, his knees buckled—he emitted a fluttering moan—his pupils rolled back—and he slid lifelessly onto the ground.

I saw at once what had happened. Even as our would-be executioner had begun to squeeze the trigger, Crockett had shoved me aside and, with unerring accuracy and lightning speed, hurled the dagger into the breast of the villain, who, recoiling from the impact of the blade, had discharged his rifle harmlessly into the air!