"You may straighten out our corpses if you like. Meanwhile, we attach no faith in your words, and pledges, and good-for-nothing advice. Back with you! We are going to hold our end of this unequal combat up to the last."
He lifted his firearms so threateningly that the others interpreted the action as a signal for resumed hostilities. A rattling discharge ensued. Leon threw himself frantically before his granduncle, and received at least one bullet which would not otherwise have missed him. The youth fell, and the Yager dropped also, but this time to shield him and out of prudence. Over their heads a double volley crossed. Upon this sudden aggression, reasonably regarded as treachery, the battle renewed itself with unequalled bloodthirstiness on the confederates' part, and constant resolve on that of the foes.
Meanwhile, though under fire, Jim's first act was to see how his nephew was hurt. He uttered an outcry in joy amid the whizzing bullets, hurtling arrows, and falling boughs severed by the missiles: Leon was pale, but unwounded. The ball had flattened itself on the buckle of his belt, dented it, but not penetrated. The blow was a smart one, and knocked all the breath out of his body; but in a few minutes he came round, and was delighted to find that he had saved the old man's life.
During this the defenders had been hemmed in closely, fairly pushed out of their little fort, and were being mowed down. It was no fight, but carnage—a massacre which gives a name to the spot to this day.
Leon saw that the French Half-breed was literally pulled down, like a bull on whom the dogs cluster, by several of the Piegans and trappers.
"Oh! I must save that brave fellow," cried he.
Springing like a panther into the medley, he pulled off and pushed off the assailants, and embraced the Manitoban with both arms.
"My prisoner!" he shouted.
"His meat!" added Jim Ridge, who had closely followed.
"Back!" said Filditch, running up and repulsing the baffled men, who, however, betook themselves to other game.