He slipped down the bar, threw the door open suddenly and plunged outside. A yell greeted his emergence and he was aware of a small group of men standing a little way from the cabin. As he ran he fired at them from the hip; and turned sharply to the left. The two men appeared suddenly from behind the trees to bar his way, so quickly that he had not time to fire the rifle before one of them grappled with him. The rifle fell from his hand, and for a moment they struggled, then whilst the second man was still running, a shadowy figure slipped from behind a broad trunk close to where the two men were locked together, and Stane caught the sudden gleam of a knife as the light from the fire glinted upon it. He was unable to help himself, and, held in his antagonist's arms, he waited for the impending stroke. Twice the knife descended, and his opponent's grip suddenly slackened and the man slid slowly to the ground. The running man had now reached the scene of the struggle. He carried a hatchet in his hand, and he struck first at the unknown one who had killed his companion, and the unknown one went down like a log. Before Stane had recovered from his surprise the ax was raised again. He leaped at the man just as the ax descended. An intervening bough turned the stroke, twisting the ax so that it caught the side of his head, knocking him senseless. As he fell to the ground, the Indian raised the ax once more. Before the blow could fall, a rifle cracked in the wood behind him, and the attacker leaped in the air, and pitched forward upon his face.
CHAPTER XVIII
A DEAD GIRL
"Ah! Dat better! By gar, but I think it was New Jerusalem for you dis time!"
The words penetrated Stane's consciousness as he opened his eyes, and were followed by others which he obeyed instinctively. "Tak' anoder drink. Zee whisky veel vake you proper."
He gulped from the tin pannikin which was held to his lips, and coughed as the raw, potent spirit burned his throat. Then he sat up and looked at the man who was befriending him.
"Who ... who are you?" he asked weakly.
"I am Jean Bènard. I come up zee lak' an' hear shots an' I see my cabin blaze like hell. I tink somethin' ver' badly wrong an' I turn to zee woods. Den I see you rush out an' I hear you shoot as you run. I see dat big man struggle with you, I see him keeled by anoder who go down, aussi, and when zee man with zee ax mak' for you I begin to shoot. I am in zee wood, an' zee divils they do not see me, an' I pick off un, deux, trois! Dey are dere still, after dey others grow afraid an' run like caribou with zee wolves at dere heels. It ees fine sport, an' I shoot as dey ran, an' presently I am left alone. I shovel snow wit' a snow-shoe on my burning cabin, for I love dat petite cabin like a child, an' den I tink I take a look at you. You not dead, so I pour hot whisky in your mouth an' you return from zee happy-huntin' grounds. Dere you have zee whole narrative."