Springing up, he saw that the ranger who had followed him had been similarly engaged. The latter was underneath a savage, and struggling desperately to avoid the knife-thrusts aimed at his breast. Revel sprung to his assistance. But a dark form was before him—that of Mace. The latter dealt the Indian a blow, and with a groan he rolled aside.
“Down, quick!” said Mace; and with the words, he dropped to the ground, jerking Will down beside him. Two or three reports rung out, and the bullets whistled over them. The three men hastily crept a few yards aside.
“Where’s the rest?” whispered Will.
“A little below us, workin’ their way up,” said Mace. “They’ll git tired o’ this, cuss ’em.”
“Poor Hank!” said Dan Hicks. “That makes two.”
“They’re gittin’ paid!” said Mace, grimly. “Hish!”
Footsteps were distinguished coming from below. Mace was satisfied whose they were. In the course of three minutes, the other rangers came up. Meantime, nothing to indicate any new position of the Indians had been heard.
A hurried consultation was held by the men. Mace knew that not less than a dozen savages were around them yet. But the commotion had diverted those on the watch for Rhodan; so it was naturally supposed the latter and his Indian friend had succeeded in landing, and were perhaps, not far off. Yet to venture on signal-notes would apprise the savages of their exact position.
“Let each one hold his knife ready,” said Mace. “We’ll separate a little an’ keep on this course. It’s no wuss’n to stay here till they steal upon us. Mebbe we’ll run across Rhodan. Come.”