300
There is a rush of wind, like a sound of a whip before it cracks; then something tightens around your body, pinning your arms to your sides. Fear wells up inside when you realize that you have been lassoed. Desperately you struggle to grab the rope that is biting into your flesh, but you are pulled roughly to the ground before you can break free.
Cursing wildly, you blink the dust from your eyes in time to see a scrawny youth advancing towards you, his hands tugging and shortening the rope to maintain his hold on you. He is dressed in tattered buckskin, and his cheeks and forehead are painted with coloured stripes. His strange appearance reminds you of books you read when you were young—books with pictures of Red Indian braves who fought cowboys of the old West. The youth gives a warbling scream and more of his kind appear, all of them dressed in similar Red Indian costumes. With howls of delight they jump on you, take your missile and close combat weapons (erase these from your Action Chart), and hold your arms securely behind your back while the youth retrieves his lasso. Then, without a word of explanation, they drag you to the centre of the street and tie you to the totem pole.
The sound of a car horn echoes in the distance and your captors cease their whooping. The moment the vehicle glides into view, they throw themselves to their knees and bow their heads devoutly. Open-mouthed, you stare at the approaching car, scarcely able to believe your eyes.
