By a prodigious chance, Valentine had not yet received a wound, save a few unimportant scratches, for the Indians were so close together that they could not use their arms for fear of wounding one another. But Valentine felt his strength deserting him, his ears buzzed, his temples throbbed as if bursting; a veil was gradually spread over his eyes, and his wearied arms only dealt uncertain blows.
Human strength has its limits, and however great the energy and will of a man may be, the moment arrives when further fighting becomes impossible, his strength betrays his courage, and he is forced to confess himself vanquished.
Valentine was reduced to this supreme point. His rifle broke in his hands; he was disarmed, and at the mercy of his ferocious enemies. All was over with the gallant Frenchman.
But the hunters, whom the Indians had forgotten in the heat of the action, seeing the imminent peril of their companion, resolutely hurried to his aid. While Eagle-wing, Don Pablo, and Shaw attacked the Indians and compelled them to fall back, Curumilla carried off his friend on his shoulders.
The contest began again, more obstinate and terrible than before, but, after extraordinary efforts, the hunters succeeded in regaining the islet, in spite of the stubborn resistance of the redskins.
Valentine had fainted, and Curumilla carried him to a perfectly sheltered spot, and silently busied himself with recalling him to life. But fatigue alone had produced the hunter's syncope, so he soon reopened his eyes, and ten minutes later he was perfectly restored.
When the Apaches saw their enemies in safety, they ceased a contest henceforth useless, and retired out of rifle range. The day passed without fresh incidents, and the hunters were able to intrench themselves as well as they could on the islet, which they had succeeded in reaching with so much toil.