Suddenly Bob gained his feet, intent upon resorting to boxing, a method that the Indians probably knew little about.
A quick glance around showed that his friends had arrived and were making for the boats as fast as they could. But it was only a glance, for the Indians were rushing at him with redoubled force.
Bob caught the first man squarely between the eyes and sent him sprawling to the ground in a dazed condition. The other Indian saw that it would be useless to continue the fight, for the other whites were returning fast.
He turned and made for the boat, Bob at his heels. The youth suspected that the man was going after a gun, and he was right. But he hardly had the revolver in his hand when Bob pounced upon him and wrenched the weapon from his grip. One hard blow put him out of the fight.
Then, for the first time, Bob drew a long breath. He was panting and gasping from exertion, but he hurried over to Professor Bigelow.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” the professor replied, getting to his feet. And then: “That was a wonderful fight you put up, Bob. If you had come much later, the Indians would have escaped with the boat and our provisions.”
“So that was their game!” said Mr. Lewis angrily, glancing at the still limp Indian on shore. “They wanted to put you out and then escape with the boats, leaving us here to starve!”
He drew his fist, and for a moment it looked as if another fight were going to take place.