He clutched it with the determination still farther to kill--to take yet another life before parting with his own.
It was hopeless, useless slaughter; but it was sweet.

Almost insane with anger, he thought it sweet.
Three dusky antagonists lay dead at his feet, and he was rushing across the corral in search of a fourth.

A giant figure loomed up before him, looking more gigantic from the magnifying effect of the smoke.

It was not that of a savage; it was Walt Wilder.
"Dead beat!" hoarsely and hurriedly muttered the guide.

"We must go under, Frank.