Douglas was about to turn and make reply, when Bright Wing suddenly gave a grunt of warning and dropped to the ground. His companions followed his example. A hoarse growl rumbled up from Duke’s deep chest, as he crouched like a tiger preparing for a spring. The next moment the sound of light footfalls came to the ears of all.
“Surrounded!” gasped Douglas.
“Fell into a trap, jest as I expected!” muttered Farley. “We’re out o’ the fryin’-pan into the fire!”
Duke uttered a vicious bay and sprang to his feet. Then the forest rang with a chorus of fiendish yells, as though all the imps of hell had broken loose at once.
In a moment the three men were upon their feet. The belching rifles of their enemies surrounded them with a ring of flame. Ross Douglas felt a stinging, burning sensation in his right breast. He discharged his gun, and staggered against a neighboring tree. Sparks of red and green light flashed before his eyes; a cataract roared in his ears. Dimly he discerned the savage forms swarming around him; faintly he heard the whoops of the Indians and the lusty cheers of his two comrades. Then he grew faint and dizzy. His limbs trembled; his brain swam. He coughed; and a stream of hot blood welled up in his throat. His legs failed him, and he sank upon the ground. As one in a dream, he heard Farley saying:
“The poor boy’s done fer, Bright Wing! He’s bleedin’ from the mouth, an’ senseless. ’Taint no use to stand by him no longer; he’s past all help. Le’s try to cut our way out o’ this muss. We can’t more’n die! An’ maybe it’ll draw the cusses away from the spot, an’ save his scalp!”
The Wyandot’s war-whoop and Farley’s stentorian bellow again sounded above the yells of their enemies. Fainter and fainter grew the indescribable sounds of conflict in the darkness; and Ross was alone. No, not alone; for a dark body sprang to his side and, whimpering pitifully, crouched and licked his face. It was Duke.
Then the wounded man became blind, deaf, unconscious. And the soft snow fell and covered him, as a winding-sheet.
