"They are going to try to stop the ice-boat," said one of the wounded hunters.
"Don't let 'em do it," added the other wounded man. "If they do that we'll all be killed, sure!"
"We must fight for it," came firmly from James Morris. "Men, make every shot tell."
There was no time to say more, for the craft was now almost upon the Indians. The latter were whooping and gesticulating wildly, and three ran forward, as if to catch hold of the craft as it came on.
But the wind, still increasing, still favored the whites. It swung the ice-boat a little to one side, and with a whizzing sound the craft struck two of the Indians, hurling them flat.
As the Indians went down some of the other red men discharged their firearms, and let fly several arrows. The whites also fired, and two other Indians were wounded. Henry received an arrow through his coat sleeve, but the wound made thereby was only a scratch. One of the wounded hunters was struck in the breast and he expired a short time afterward.
The terrible speed of the ice-boat was something upon which the red men had not calculated, and as the two that were struck went down, the craft fairly leaped forward, and in a few seconds the whites had passed the whole band of Indians. More shots were sent after them, and Henry and his uncle fired in return, but no further damage was done. In two minute the ice-boat was out of firing distance.
"Are you hurt, Henry?" questioned the trader, anxiously.
"It's only a scratch, Uncle Jim," was the answer, after an examination.
"I'm afraid poor Gaddock is done for," went on the trader.