CHAPTER XXVII
THE ATTACK OF THE FRENCH
“Dave! are ye alive?”
“I—I—reckon so, Sam—bu—but I am not sure!”
“We must git out o’ here, or we’ll run the danger o’ being burnt up!”
Barringford was right; already the scattered camp-fire, aided by the high wind, was commencing to set fire to the tree limbs that rested under the cliff.
On Dave’s breast was a mass of small stones, dirt, and snow, and it was with difficulty that he managed to sit up. Then he discovered that one leg was held down tightly by a branch of one of the fallen trees.
“I’m in a regular bear trap,” he panted.
“Both legs, lad?”
“No, only the left.”
“I’ll free ye,” answered the old frontiersman, and set to work immediately.