“Yes,” replied Old Pegs.
“You shall. Now Jim! Down with him.”
And regardless of the flag, the two men threw themselves upon Old Pegs and attempted to bear him to the earth.
CHAPTER XI.
THE HEROINE A CAPTIVE.
This cowardly act, while it was a surprise to Old Pegs, did not find him utterly unprepared. He suffered himself to slip from the saddle, and in doing so, dragged his two assailants with him, each encircled by one of his powerful arms. Once upon the ground they realized that it was not an easy work which they had undertaken, for those great arms enfolded them with a gripe which literally drove the breath from their bodies, strong men as they were. A moment more and Jim Diggs was down with the huge foot of the hunter planted on his breast, while above him stood the stalwart old man with Rafe Norris in his grasp, shaking him until it seemed as if he would tear him limb from limb.
“Turn on a flag, would yer?” hissed the old man. “I orter kill yer—I orter cut yer heart out, by Jinks; why shouldn’t I?”
Rafe made frantic efforts to get at a weapon, but his efforts were vain, and Jim Diggs was utterly powerless under the pressure of that heavy foot. The outlaws in the pass, seeing the terrible danger of their leaders, advanced at a wild gallop, while a party of the trappers about equal in numbers, charged in return. But, before they could reach the combatants Old Pegs was standing alone in a sea of tossing steel, set upon at once by twenty foes. His wild whoop of defiance rung out above the tumult and a terrible commotion was made in their midst. Horses careered away riderless, shouts of wild rage were heard, and out of the tempest of steel rode Old Pegs, whirling above his head the rifle which served him for a mace. More than one Indian cabin was empty from that hour, for the warriors would never more return from the battle or the chase.
“Yah—hip!” yelled Old Pegs, as he still struck right and left. “Old Pegs is thar, every time. Whoop! Sock it to ’em, boys; give ’em Bunker Hill!”
His friends are hardly a hundred paces away, when the brave old hunter dropped his hands to his side attacked by an unlooked-for weapon, and one against which he had not time to guard, the lasso! He feels the deadly noose settle over his shoulders and tighten about his arms, still another and another follows—and he is dragged from the saddle into the center of his enemies, who, satisfied with what they have done, turn their horses’ heads and fly, bearing the hunter in their midst. Close upon the crupper, dropping a man at almost every stride, ride the bold trappers, so close indeed that they sweep into the pass with the pursued so near that they can not turn and defend themselves. Man after man falls and still they press on.
“Keep up the pace, boys!” screamed Dave, wild with the delight of battle. “Down with the cut-throats.”