The strife ceased as suddenly as
it had begun. Warriors lay still on the grass; others writhed in
agony. For an instant a fleeting shadow crossed the open lane
leading out of the glade; then it vanished.
Three savages had sprung toward their rifles. A blinding flash, a
loud report burst from the thicket overhead. The foremost savage
sank lifelessly. The others were intercepted by a giant shadow with
brandished rifle. The watcher on the knoll had entered the glade. He
stood before the stacked rifles and swung his heavy gun. Crash! An
Indian went down before that sweep, but rose again. The savages
backed away from this threatening figure, and circled around it.
The noise of the other conflict ceased. More savages joined the
three who glided to and fro before their desperate foe. They closed
in upon him, only to be beaten back. One savage threw a glittering
knife, another hurled a stone, a third flung his tomahawk, which
struck fire from the swinging rifle.
He held them at bay. While they had no firearms he was master of the
situation. With every sweep of his arms he brought the long rifle
down and knocked a flint from the firelock of an enemy's weapon.
Soon the Indians' guns were useless. Slowly then he began to edge
away from the stone, toward the opening where he had seen the
fleeting form vanish.
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