others fell back. The wounded man drew up, made a lunge at Macavoy, but
missed him. As if ashamed, the other six came on again at a spring. But
again the weapon did its work smartly, and one more came down. Now the
giant put it away, ran in upon the five, and cut right and left. So
sudden and massive was his rush that they had no chance. Three fell at
his blows, and then he drew back swiftly to the wall. "Drop your knives,"
he said, as they cowered, "or I'll kill you all." They did so. He dropped
his own.

"Now come on, ye scuts!" he cried, and suddenly he reached and caught
them, one with each arm, and wrestled with them, till he bent the one
like a willow-rod, and dropped him with a broken back, while the other
was at his mercy. Suddenly loosing him, he turned him towards the woods,
and said: "Run, ye rid divil, run for y'r life!"

A dozen spears were raised, but the rifles of Pierre's men came in
between: the Indian reached cover and was gone. Of the six others, two
had been killed, the rest were severely wounded, and Macavoy had not a
scratch.

Pierre smiled grimly. "You've been doing all the fighting, Macavoy," he
said.

"There's no bein' a king for nothin'," he replied, wiping blood from his
beard.

"It's my turn now, but keep your rifles ready, though I think there's no
need."

Pierre had but a short minute with the champion, for he was an expert