Caribou shouted another command and paddled faster than ever.
The shout of the guide and the buck’s deadly peril now caused Frank Merriwell to push out also, and soon he was paddling as fast as he could toward the deer and the dogs. But the separating distance was considerable.
The shallower water aided the biggest hound, for it got a footing with its long legs and sprang at the buck’s throat. The buck shook the hound off and struck with its antlers.
“That’s it!” Merriwell whispered, excitedly. “Give it to them!”
The attacks of the three dogs kept the buck turning, but it met its assailants with great gallantry and spirit. When the big hound flew at its throat again, it got its antlers under him and flung him howling through the air, to strike the water with a splashing blow and sink from sight.
“Good enough!” cried Merriwell. “Do it again!”
The other hounds seemed not in the least bit frightened by this mishap to their comrade, but crowded nearer, trying to get hold of the buck’s throat.
The big hound came to the surface almost immediately, none the worse for its involuntary flight and submergence, and swam back to the assault.
Merriwell looked at Caribou, who was now standing up in the canoe and sending it along with tremendous strokes.
“Hurrah!” Merry cried, not taking time to stop, however. “I’m coming, Caribou, to help you.”