“We’re their meat, Bob,” hissed Doc Bell. “It’s no use disputin’ thet point. Ef I only had that infernal Williamson hyar! But, I finished him; that’s some consolation. Ha!”
With the exclamation, the giant’s rifle touched his shoulder, and a yell told that some ill-fated red-man had exposed his body to the death-scout’s aim. An instant later the weapons of the other whites spoke their death-tidings, and the chorus of yells that quickly followed would have done credit to the choir of the lost in Pandemonium.
The Indians to a man shot forward; and with clubbed rifles and knives griped between their teeth, Doc Bell and his companion sprung from the trees, and faced the red horde with the look of men whose lives must be purchased at a terrible cost.
Oliver Blount seemed to forget for what he had to live, and to have imbibed the spirit of his companions; for, despite his wounds, which caused his lips to twitch with acute pain, he threw himself over the log with drawn tomahawk.
“Come on, devils!” he yelled at the savages. “Come on, I say, and greet the edge of trader Blount’s hatchet!”
The Indians greeted his speech with derisive yells, and when they had almost reached the desperate men, who had braced themselves for the battle to the death, a solitary rifle cracked, and Big Fox-Fire, the giant of the Delawares and the leader of the avengers, sunk to the ground without a groan.
Awe-stricken by the mysterious shot the savages executed an abrupt halt, and their eyes, staring upon some object beyond the whites, drew the attention of the latter thither.
Near fifty yards behind them, and upon the trunk of a newly-fallen tree, stood the slayer of the gigantic Delaware; and when the eyes of the hunted whites fell upon the avenger, a cry simultaneously parted their lips:
“’Tis Kate!”
Yes, in the person of the slayer, the form of Kate Blount was easily recognizable, and with a light cry which reached her father’s ears, she bounded forward.