Maclish had descried that blackened figure, and whirled to meet it. He drove in a blow to the burnt body that stopped Crawford with sheer shock of the pain; then lunged forward to finish it, knife glittering. In this play Maclish was too slow. Crawford, recovering, struck the steel aside and launched a staggering blow which crushed lips and teeth and dyed the red beard a darker scarlet. Then the knife bit into him; in agonized frenzy of pain, he struck again and again, went staggering down with Maclish beneath him, and found his enemy limp and unresisting. Somehow, he had driven a blow home.
Crawford, impelled by a mad urge, tore at the man’s clothes and next instant had the Star of Dreams in his hand. Now he groped for the fallen knife, seized it, and came to one knee for the blow. He paused, glancing around. One of the two Stone Men was motionless, Le Talon was locked with the other in grunting combat. So the old Mohegan was actually alone! A laugh shaking on his lips, Crawford lifted the knife to drive it home into Maclish—no silly thought of mercy now!
In the motion, darkness came upon him, and he pitched sideways. For an instant, as his hurt body rolled on the earth, his brain wakened to the sharp pain; then it was dulled again.
Five minutes afterward, he came to himself. His head was in the lap of Le Talon; the chief, still panting, was pouring water over his face. Crawford sat up, groaned sharply, then fought off the overmastering weakness and struggled to his feet.
“Maclish—where is he?”
“The Red Bull is gone. Careful! My brother is hurt and badly wounded.” The Mohegan rose, put out an arm, caught Crawford as the latter reeled.
“Gone!” Fury roused Crawford anew. He still held the Star of Dreams, but the body of the Scot had disappeared. “After him, quickly! He can’t go far—after him, Mohegan! He must be destroyed at all costs——”
Calmly, Le Talon showed his right thigh, where a great knife-gash had ripped across the muscles in a hideous wound.
“The chief of the Loup nation is alone,” he said. His grave and impressive manner steadied Crawford at once, gave him immediate poise. “He cannot run through the woods after the Red Bull. His friends the Dacotah are not close; we must hurry to reach their camp before the Stone Men come upon us.”
Crawford swayed, then sank down weakly; Maclish had escaped him this time, and with good reason. He felt the chief running deft hands over his body, rubbing bear-grease from a little pouch into the burned skin, binding up a knife-slash across his ribs whose flow of blood had ebbed out his strength and robbed him of his prey. Presently Crawford rallied and returned these services, bandaging that frightful slash across the chief’s thigh and learning how Le Talon had come to intervene at so opportune a moment.