I worked myself a little more in rear of their position, then rose quietly and drew knife and tomahawk. I was an amateur at casting the ax, but this was no time for hesitation. I flung it with all my might, and yelled the nearest approach I could compass to the war-whoop.
The tomahawk struck one of the Keepers with the flat of its blade, felling him. The other savage turned quickly and loosed his arrow at me, aiming wide in his confusion. He stooped for his musket, but I was on him with my knife and he was forced to leap back and meet me on even terms. Ta-wan-ne-ars and Peter came running between the trees, whooping encouragement.
They arrived in the nick of time, for the Cahnuaga I had tried to tomahawk was on his feet, ready to shoot me as I dodged the knife-blade of his mate. The Seneca brained this man with the butt of his gun, and Peter methodically tripped my adversary and helped me pinion him.
Ta-wan-ne-ars paused long enough to remove what was left of the scalp of his victim, then crossed to us and set his bloody knife to the throat of the survivor.
"Is it to be torture or a quick death, Cahnuaga dog!" he demanded.
The red eyes of the Keeper glared at him. "Death," the man spat, and strove to gnaw at the hands which held him.
"Then speak truly. Who travels Doom Trail today?"
"Nobody. We watch always."
Ta-wan-ne-ars pricked him slightly.
"You watch always," assented the Seneca. "Yes. And who comes?"