“Right here,” cried Joseph, holding on to his left leg with both hands. “It’s just above the knee and I can’t walk.”
“I’ll help you,” offered Robert eagerly. “Lean on me and we can get back.”
Joseph made an effort to get up, but it was unavailing. His leg gave out under the weight and he rolled back to his former position. Blood showed in a dark red spot above his knee.
“I can’t do it, Bob,” he moaned. “There’s no use in your being hit, too, though. Please leave me. Save yourself, anyway.”
Robert suddenly sprang to his feet. “All right, I will leave you,” he cried, and at full speed he ran swiftly toward the tree behind which Deerfoot and his enemy were concealed.
CHAPTER XVIII
BETWEEN THE LINES
As Robert ran forward he caught a fleeting glimpse of Deerfoot. He saw his Indian friend locked in a death struggle with his foe. Over and over upon the ground the two men rolled, sometimes one on top and sometimes the other. Neither had been able thus far to deal any decisive blow, and each one was doing his utmost to use his knife or tomahawk.
The sight spurred Robert forward, and a feeling of intense rage welled up into his heart. His family had been murdered and his home destroyed. His brother had been shot and now the last person to whom he could turn on earth was struggling for his life with one of these same enemies of his. All that had befallen him swept through Robert’s mind in a flash. Red spots danced before his eyes and he was more angry than he had ever been before in his life.
He was afraid to shoot, however, for fear he might hit Deerfoot. The two men were so entwined in each other’s embrace that it was sometimes hard to distinguish one from the other. Neither one was aware of Robert’s presence. It was not so with the other Indians, however. A hot fire was directed at the daring young pioneer and only the deadly shooting of his comrades saved him from a personal attack.
Robert dodged behind the tree for protection while he cautiously peered out. He was waiting his chance to step in and deal the blow that would return Deerfoot victor in the struggle. The two men were straining every nerve and every muscle in their effort to gain the mastery. The veins stood out upon their foreheads, while great beads of perspiration streamed from every pore. Their breath came in gasps and it seemed impossible that human strength could endure such a test much longer. Evidently the strugglers must soon weaken, and such proved to be the case.