Spang! Spang!
The two rifle reports thundered through the glade. Two Indians
staggered and fell in their tracks--dead without a cry.
A huge yellow body, spread out like a panther in his spring,
descended with a crash upon Deering and Girty. The girl fell away
from the renegade as he went down with a shrill screech, dragging
Deering with him. Instantly began a terrific, whirling, wrestling
struggle.
A few feet farther down the cliff another yellow body came crashing
down to alight with a thud, to bound erect, to rush forward swift as
a leaping deer. The two remaining Indians had only time to draw
their weapons before this lithe, threatening form whirled upon them.
Shrill cries, hoarse yells, the clash of steel and dull blows
mingled together. One savage went down, twisted over, writhed and
lay still. The other staggered, warded off lightninglike blows until
one passed under his guard, and crashed dully on his head. Then he
reeled, rose again, but only to have his skull cloven by a bloody
tomahawk.
The victor darted toward the whirling mass.
"Lew, shake him loose! Let him go!" yelled Jonathan Zane, swinging
his bloody weapon.
High above Zane's cry, Deering's shouts and curses, Girty's shrieks
of fear and fury, above the noise of wrestling bodies and dull
blows, rose a deep booming roar.
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