"Now we give 'em—devil!"
Eight pursuers on snow-shoes were in the open of the dip. Six of them had reached the lake. Rod held his fire. He knew that it was now more important for him to recover his wind than to fight, and he drew great drafts of air into his lungs while his two comrades leveled their rifles. He could fire after they were done if it was necessary.
There was slow deadly deliberation in the way Mukoki and Wabigoon sighted along their rifle-barrels. Mukoki fired first; one shot, two—with a second's interval between—and an outlaw half-way across the lake pitched forward into the snow. As he fell, Wabi fired once, and there came to their ears shriek after shriek of agony as a second pursuer fell with a shattered leg. At the cries and shots of battle the hot blood rushed through Rod's veins, and with an excited shout of defiance he brought his rifle to his shoulder and in unison the three guns sent fire and death into the dip below.
Only three of the eight Woongas remained and they had turned and were running toward the shelter of the cedars.
"Hurrah!" shouted Rod.
In his excitement he got upon his feet and sent his fifth and last shot after the fleeing outlaws. "Hurrah! Wow! Let's go after 'em!"
"Get down!" commanded Wabi. "Load in a hurry!"
Clink—clink—clink sounded the new shells as Mukoki and Wabigoon thrust them into their magazines. Five seconds more and they were sending a terrific fusillade of shots into the edge of the cedars—ten in all—and by the time he had reloaded his own gun Rod could see nothing to shoot at.
"That will hold them for a while," spoke Wabi. "Most of them came in too big a hurry, and without their snow-shoes, Muky. We'll beat them to the chasm—easy!" He put an arm around the shoulders of the old Indian, who was still lying upon his face in the snow. "Let me see, Muky—let me see—"
"Chasm first," replied Mukoki. "She no bad. No hit bone. No bleed—much."