"Quick! the heathen are beginning to bethink themselves of their weapons. Reach me your hand—haste! Is life so worthless that ye would cast it away without an effort toward saving it?" cried the man, in tones so different from that first used that even Abel felt surprise.
Still, great though that surprise was, increased, too, by finding a friend when he had expected to meet an enemy, it did not prevent Dare from obeying the hermit by extending his hand, which was clutched by fingers like iron in their strength. Without any apparent effort the hermit drew Abel Dare up over the escarpment, landing him safely by his side, though now the rifles from below had begun to speak, the bowstrings to twang, and the feathered shafts to hurtle through the air. But the marksmen were unsteadied by their long race, and their aim any thing but accurate.
"Give them a taste of your metal, young man—take those with the rifles," sharply cried the hermit, seemingly changed from a wild enthusiast into a cool Indian-fighter.
Abel, nowise loth, obeyed. A savage dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. The hermit shook his head and frowned.
"You overshot—at least two inches too high. 'Tis better, even in dealing with such reptiles, to do your work neatly. But now hold this rock, while I go and get my arms. Your shot checked them for a time."
In a few moments the hermit returned, bearing in his hand a huge bow of second-growth white-oak, full six feet in length, more resembling a crow-bar, tapering slightly at both ends, than weapon to be used by human arm. Besides this he carried a skin quiver filled with long, flint-tipped arrows. Abel's eyes opened widely as he saw with what ease the hermit bent this bow, to test the string. But soon they had their hands full.
In silence a number of Indians broke cover and darted toward the narrow path leading upward, while a volley from those remaining concealed swept the platform. Crouching low down the two defenders coolly watched their movements, comparatively well shielded the while.
Half a dozen braves succeeded in scaling the path for fully half the distance, when, with a sudden push, the hermit toppled over the heavy bowlder. True to his intention, it dashed along the hollow trail, and tore resistlessly through the line of savages, crushing, mangling them horribly, leaving but one alive of the six, and as he picked himself up at the hill-foot, the huge bow was bent, and then an arrow passed entirely through the poor devil's body.
The savages yelled madly from their cover, but not one ventured to show himself. The hermit laughed loudly, then turned to Abel, who, pale and staring, was gazing over the platform:
"How do you like my style of working? But go and get some more of our jolly flint bullets—you'll find them yonder, in the cave behind you."