"Let me take your gun, then," Thede advised, "and if he moves or
makes any funny breaks, I'll keep him under cover!"

George handed his gun over to the boy without a word and moved on
toward the fire. It was clear that the man was asleep, his chin
resting on his breast, his shoulders supported by a wall of rock.

The thing which glittered on the ledge, now almost within reaching
distance, was unquestionably the Little Brass God, the quest of
which had brought the boys into the Hudson Bay country.

George had never set eyes on the toy, but there was no mistaking
the crossed legs, the folded arms, the paunchy stomach, and the
misshapen, leering face. The boy heard a soft warning whispered
from the opposite side of the room and turned his eyes from a
greedy contemplation of the Little Brass God to the figure of the
man crouching before the blaze.

The fellow had lifted his head, and now sat staring at the boy with
a dumb wonder in his eyes. While the boy looked the expression
changed from wonder to alarm, from alarm to anger, and then the
doubled-up figure straightened and sprang forward.

The boy heard a pistol shot, sensed the acrid smell of powder
smoke, felt a muscular hand grasp the wrist which was extended
toward the shelf of rock, and then a million stars seemed to be
falling from the heavens. There was a roar as of an ocean beating
against breakers, and then a lull during which he heard another
pistol shot.