A sudden uproar was heard in the direction of the bunk-house. The lumberjacks having discovered that a fight was in progress were running towards the river to see if they too could not get into the fray, for a lumberjack loves nothing in the world so violently as he loves a fight.
"Keep out of it!" ordered Tom as he saw that the jacks were headed for the path that Peg and Willy had taken.
"Tom! Do something!" begged Grace. "Don't let those two men kill each other."
"We can do nothing. Even to call to Willy would take his attention from the battle. You know what that would mean."
"Oh-h-h-h-h!" moaned Emma, toppling over in a faint.
"Oh, Heavens! Look!" wailed Anne.
One of the combatants staggered and swayed. An arm was thrust out at him, but the blade that had been driven against him did not flash in the moonlight, for the body of the wielder was between it and the spectators. Even the jacks stood silent, they having halted at Tom Gray's command, but their breathing was heavily audible.
"He's killed! It's Peg!" cried Grace.
The Indian's victim, following the last thrust, had toppled over into the river below the dam. With a bound, Willy Horse cleared the spiling and leaped to the river bed to finish his victim.
"Willy! Stop!" Grace Harlowe's voice rang out shrill and penetrating, as Willy, the savage instincts of his race having taken possession of his soul, raised his knife-hand above Peg Tatem, who lay on his back on the river-bed.