"Yes—the devils are coming. I will take the first one that shows his head—you the second. Remember waste no shot."
Kneeling in the mouth of the cave, the two men silently awaited the appearance of their enemies. The rifle was leveled, the long bow half bent. And the scratching noise sounded more distinct.
Then the black muzzle of a rifle crept noiselessly over the escarpment. The hermit smiled. The guess was a poor one. The bullet would strike two feet to the left.
The rifle cracked. As though believing the smoke-cloud would screen them, the savages uttered their war-cry, and sprung up to gain the ledge.
The hermit laughed aloud. As the foremost figure appeared in view, the strong bow was bent—then the shaft leveled. Striking fairly, the broad, muscular breast, the missile passed entirely through, falling upon the plain far beyond the mound. Clutching, tearing convulsively at the wound, the Indian, with the terrible yell almost universally given by his race, fell heavily backward.
At the same instant Abel Dare fired, the flame from his rifle blackening the face of the second savage whose skull was crushed in. The fall of these two bodies, checked the advance of their comrades, and gave the hermit time to deal the finishing stroke by a daring deed.
Dropping his weapon, he rushed forward, heedless of the yelling fiends upon the ledge above, and seizing upon one of the large bowlders, fairly raised it from the ground, and dashed it down upon the struggling savages. Two arrows struck the rock by his side, one of them tearing through his garments, but he did not hesitate. Stooping, he seized a second rock. An arrow struck him, and he fell to the platform. A yell of devilish triumph rung out from the savage marksmen above. But their exultation was premature.
With an angry cry, almost mad, the hermit struck the bowlder with his hands, rolling it over like a feather-weight, sending it down the hollow trail to complete the work its fellow had so terribly begun. Another arrow splintered its flinty head beside him, but uttering another cry he scrambled back to the mouth of the cave, well knowing that the trail was once more clear of savages.
Anxiously Abel bent over him. A long arrow was sticking deep in his back, buried half its length in the flesh. It seemed impossible for the wound to be other than mortal. But the hermit smiled grimly.
"Don't be alarmed, lad; I've fought down harder blows than this. I don't think it went deep enough to kill—you see it's only through my side. Cut off the feathers, and push it through. I feel the point pricking the skin."