“Mace?” he whispered.
“He’s behind,” whispered a voice belonging to another of the rangers. “Four or five ar’ but a leetle ways ahind us.”
“There’s more ahead than we thought, tew. But there’s no chance to tell the rest, and too late to go back. Come on!”
At this moment a sudden commotion began in the bushes not ten yards away. Not a cry was heard. The combatants were too intent on the struggle.
The two rangers leaped forward. In a second they could discern two dark figures clinched and struggling for the mastery. Before they themselves could interpose, a groan burst out, and one of the combatants dropped.
“Thar—durn yer!” muttered the voice of the triumphant ranger; but even as the unguarded words came from his lips, a hatchet in the hands of an Indian behind crashed through his brain, and he fell against Revel.
The latter nearly fell himself, but recovering, was in time to ward off a knife-blow, and to close with a powerful savage. As he did so, two rifle-reports rung out near by, and he heard bold, bounding steps across the open space to his right.
He noted these circumstances, even at that fearful moment; and then he was struggling fiercely with his enemy.
The savage had him at a disadvantage; but Revel happened, at the outset, to grasp the Indian’s long hair, and pulled his head back. With his left hand he grasped him around the waist, and tried to throw him. The Indian’s left hand was nearly useless, but his right held a knife, which began to make havoc upon Revel’s shoulder, despite the latter’s endeavor to hold the Indian’s arm.
Suddenly the struggle brought Revel’s adversary against a prostrate tree-trunk over which he fell, dragging the ranger upon him. The accident enabled Will to draw his own knife, and the next instant it was buried in the Indian’s breast!