The voice was that of Peleg Parker, and so shrill was it, that it brought each of the surviving savages to his feet.
The scout saw his danger, and inwardly cursed the unlucky tongue of the Yankee. But with the rapidity of lightning he sprung upon the nearest warrior and plunged his knife into his heart.
With a howl the Indian fell backward to the earth, with the knife still in the wound, for the scout could not spare the time to withdraw it.
The next instant a tomahawk whistled past his head, so close that it seemed as though it had grazed the skin, but left him unharmed.
Quick as thought he brought his rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
Quick as his aim had been, it proved a true one, and the red-skin fell with a bullet through his brain.
One only of the seven was left, but at a glance he had taken in the fate of his comrades, and as if struck with horror and the certainty of his own death did he stay to do battle with the terrible Death-Dealer, he turned and fled.
A shout of exultation broke from the lips of the scout as he saw himself thus master of the field, and it was echoed in glad tones by the captives, who were thus assured of their deliverance from the hands of their enemies.
At this moment the moon which had risen some time before, now managed to throw a flood of silver light down through the branches overhead, so that the spot where the scout stood was brilliantly illuminated, and they were able to recognize him and to see the work he had performed.
“Thank Heaven, it is the scout!” cried Mrs. Wilson, as he advanced toward the spot where they stood, after he had assured himself that the fleeing savage meant to make them further trouble. “Oh, if Ruth was only with us now, how happy I should be. But, alas! I fear that I shall never see her more in this world.”