It seemed so, indeed; but Mason did not know of the supreme effort made by old Pandy Ellis, the prince of bordermen.
The boy's reverie was becoming almost unbearable, when it was disturbed by what appeared to be the flash of a paddle further up the stream.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
PANDY ELLIS' HOTTEST SCRIMMAGE.
Valliant old Pandy Ellis, the veteran ranger of the prairies, was not the man to give up hope easily. He had been in many a tight scrape before, and had kept a bright face when the best of men might have given up in despair.
But there was something so fearful in the horrible struggle, where human efforts however strong seemed puny as an infant's, that the ranger might well be pardoned for shutting his teeth grimly and resolving to die hard.
There were actually tears in his eyes as he gave one last glance back at that sadly depleted little band, where noble Yates still shouted out encouraging words, and wielded his bloody sword with an untiring arm.
It was the last ever seen of this detachment of the gallant Seventh alive; and although the old ranger were to live his whole life over again, he could never forget that scene.
His hands were fully occupied in defending his person against the many weapons raised against it.