He avoided my stroke, leaping aside and stooping in the snow. Ere I could fathom his intent the others were upon me, pressing me back to the side of the Mohawk. They shrank before that crashing ax and swift tomahawk, and with each blow I caught an approving grunt from the old warrior beside me. We were ringed about with dark forms in the snow, silent and motionless, when I caught sight of Gib again.
Too late, I saw his aim. He had broken off a huge section of the snow-crust, and as I turned to meet him he flung the mass in my face, blinding me and sending me staggering. In vain did I strike out blindly, for hands gripped my throat and bore me back fighting furiously into the snow. I heard a single long yell from The Keeper, and as I went down saw a gleam of light dart from his hand. The tomahawk whirled into one of the men who gripped me, but it was of no avail. I was choked into helplessness and when something hit my wounded head, I knew no more.
Once again I wakened to find myself lying beside a fire, but now it was the broad daylight. My head scarcely pained, though my throat was sore where I had been gripped, and I was fast bound. With a turn of the head it was easy to see all that lay around.
At my side was The Keeper, in similar plight to mine, though his face seemed old and gray and sunken and his furs were red with frozen blood. He lay quiet, his eyes closed, but the sudden fear that he was dead departed when I saw the rise and fall of his breast. His painted face was hideous, yet could not mask the age and weakness and strength of the man; weak he was in body, wounded and spent, but his spirit was as strong as that of Pierre Radisson himself.
Sullen and cursing, the Chippewas were grouped about the fire. More than one of them lay helpless, or with rude-bandaged wounds, and all were eying the Mohawk and me with malignant ferocity. But Ruth was uppermost in my mind. Had she been saved? Or had The Keeper's sacrifice been vain?
Guessing from the sun, it was early morning. I looked across and up to the ridge of cliffs, and imagined that I could see a thin trail of smoke ascending. Whether it were my imagination or no, I could not tell for sure; still, the thought cheered me. At the least, Radisson must be safe, and of Ruth I would soon learn.
But the time dragged on, and by midday intolerable thirst consumed me. The Mohawk had by now come out of his swoon, and lay staring straight up into the sky, nor did I venture to bespeak him. Presently there was a stir about the fire, and from one of the lodges came Gib. Then he entered that wherein Ruth and I had lain, and came back to us with that little skin package which we had forgot in the haste of our flight. He unrolled it and laughed shortly. At a curt order from him The Keeper and I were brought up sitting, against a small hemlock. But when Gib had come to that torn cover of my father's Bible, his face changed horribly, and he flung the whole from him as if it burnt his hands—as very possibly it did.
"So, dog of an Iroquois," he snarled at The Keeper, his features convulsed with rage, "it is you whom I have to thank for the loss of men and captive, eh? Mort de ma vie! But you shall suffer for this, and speedily!"
So he raged, cursing in French, Gaelic and a dozen more tongues, while the Chippewas silently and grimly made ready their arrows and bows.
"You, MacDonald," went on Gib at length, "shall see what your fate will be if Brave Heart be not returned to us safe. As for the girl, I shall have her in the end—and would have her back here ere this, but there is no place she can flee to, and my men are athirst for revenge."