Time after time my heavy piece rose and fell, sometimes parried and sometimes not, while at my side glittered the steel of the old chief, rapid and deadly; but ever the voice of Gib urged on the warriors, and ever they pressed up that narrow path in mad resolve. On a sudden I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, and the fusil dashed out of my hands against the rock wall as I staggered back.
An instant, and I had pulled out the knife with a shudder of pain, but that instant had been well-nigh fatal, for the Chippewas poured over us. Then, while I was still faint with the shock and the pain came Grim to the fore. Swift Arrow had risen to his feet, still plying his deadly steel desperately, when the great sheep-dog crouched and sprang, snarling and tearing in the midst of them beneath us.
The
