“Hawkeye keep ring,” was the determined response, and it still quivered his lips when the girl’s rifle cleared a space about her.
The savages saw they had a demoness to deal with, and admired her bravery as they shrunk from the clubbed rifle. She was but a girl—a young tigress in nature, among twenty braves, and they would humor her as the cat does the mouse.
All at once the butt of the weapon dropped to her shoulder, and the next instant a sharp report shot over the cliffs.
Hawkeye, with a groan, reeled in the throes of death, like a drunken man.
Through the smoke, which obscured her form, the brave huntress sprung, and, before the savages could recover from their surprise, she had wrenched the ring from the warrior’s finger, and was flying through the forest like a deer!
Hawkeye was dead. The little ring, which was to be the price of more than one life, had ended his days of savage glory, and the slayer was seeking safety in flight.
The eldest members of the war-party, recovering first, had started in pursuit, and the younger were not far in their rear. Once or twice they paused and tried to bring the girl down with the rifle; but she flitted in and out among the trees so as to destroy their aim.
One hand griped her silver rifle, the other held the ring, and more than once she shut the member tighter than ever to satisfy her heart that the prize was still her own.
She ran toward the spot where she had left Renadah’s boat, and at length disappeared in the rugged path that led down to the lake shore.
For some time she had not heard the footsteps of her pursuers, and, after hiding an hour among the rocks, she approached the beach. Quickly she drew the light craft from its hiding-place, and as she placed it in the water the click of a rifle-lock sounded above her head.