The storm, which had been for so long rising, reached its culminating point, and now it burst over the encampment with a tenfold violence, on account of its delay. Just as the red-man was concentrating all his energies for a decisive effort, there came a blinding flash of lightning, revealing, with its lurid glare, the three lodges, the group of Indians, and the death-struggle taking place in the clump of bushes.
The grasp on the neck of young Robison relaxed, as the Indian, frightened by the glare of light, for a moment cowered back. That moment was his last. Even as the rolling burst of thunder came, the knife of Hugh Robison went to the hilt into his heart, and the warm life-blood came spurting out in a crimson tide.
“Whoop!” shouted Jake, divining that the thing was done, though he could not see it. “Go it, boys! Pitch into ’em, and hurrah for the Major.”
The rain came rushing down, and Jake, bound to do all the damage in his power, discharged his rifle in the direction of the group which he had seen. A wild cry told that the shot had taken effect, and, catching Hugh by the arm, he hurried him away from the spot. Through the trees and underbrush, crashing and tearing, the two rushed, the savages, recovered from their momentary panic, and understanding how few was the number of their opponents, following hard in their wake.
“Can you find your way?” hurriedly asked the trapper. “If you can, our best plan is to separate—one of us may escape; but this here way, we’re bound to be both of us taken.”
“All right! I think I can make it. If you think it’s best, cut loose, and take the chances.”
“Then here goes,” responded Jake, as he turned almost at right angles to their present course, leaving his companion to pursue his way alone.
The distance was but short, and soon he found himself within the limits of their camp, with his hand resting on the bridle of his steed.
“Safe at last!” he cried, and vaulted into his saddle. “Jake can take care of himself. It is a fearful night, but I must leave him; the blood-hounds may strike my track if I delay.”
With a cheer, expressive of delight and of defiance, he clapped spurs to his horse’s sides, and dashed away through the darkness, leaving his pursuers to give vent to their disappointment in the yells and curses. Tom Rutter listened for a moment, and then shouted out: