"Fire!" exclaimed Stark at the right moment; and as one man the
Rangers halted, and each picked his man.

Crack-crack-crack!

Literally each bullet told. Twelve dusky savages bounded into the
air, and fell dead upon the blood-stained snow.

Crack-crack-crack!

The affrighted Indians had faced round only to meet another volley
from the intrepid little band behind.

That was enough. The prowess of the Rangers was well known from one
end of the lake to the other. To be hemmed in between two companies
was more than Indian bravery or Indian stoicism could stand. With
yells of terror they dropped their arms and fled to the forest,
followed by a fierce firing from both parties, which made great
havoc in their ranks. The rout was complete and instantaneous. Had
it not been for panic, they might have paused to note how few were
those new foes in number, and how small even the united body was as
compared with their own numbers; but they fled, as Stark had
foretold, like hunted hares, and the white men were left upon the
lake face to face, with dead and dying Indians around them.

An enormously tall man leaped up from behind the rampart of
sledges, and came forward with outstretched hand. He was a man of
magnificent physique, with a mass of wild, tangled hair and beard,
and black eyes which seemed to burn like live coals. His features