cond crack
sent the eccentric thing into his face. Its third vagary brought it
down about his knees. Its fourth sent it into the gaping mouth of the
cheeky one. At the same instant the squibs and candles burst forth from
all points, pouring their fires on the naked shoulders of the red men
with a hiss that the whole serpent race of America might have failed to
equal, while the other zigzags went careering about as if the hut were
filled with evil spirits.

To say that the savages yelled and jumped, and stamped and roared, were
but a tame remark. After a series of wild bursts, in sudden and violent
confusion which words cannot describe, they rushed in a compact body to
the door. Of course they stuck fast. Rushing River went at them like a
battering-ram, and tried to force them through, but failed. The cheeky
comrade, with a better appreciation of the possibilities of the case,
took a short run and a header right over the struggling mass, _a la
harlequin_, and came down on his shoulders outside, without breaking his
neck.

Guessing the state of things by the nature of the sounds, Big Tim
removed the table from under the ponderous weight, lifted the
re-adjusted trap-door, and, springing up, darted into the hut just in
time to bestow a parting kick on the last man that struggled through.
Running to the breastwork, he beheld his foes tumbling, rushing,
crashing, bounding down the track like maniacs--which indeed they were
for the time being--and he succeeded in urging them to even greater
exertions by giving utterance to a grand resonant British cheer, which
had been taught him by his father, and had indeed been used by him more
than once, with signal success, against his Indian foes.

Returning to the cavern after the Indians had vanished into their native
woods, Big Tim assisted the preacher up the ladder, and, taking him into
the hut after the smoke of the fireworks had cleared away, placed him in
his own bed.

"You resemble your father in face, Big Tim, but not in figure," said the
missionary, when he had recovered from the exhaustion caused by his
recent efforts and excitement.

"My white father says truth," replied the hunter, with slightly humorous
glances at his huge limbs. "Daddy is little, but he is strong--uncommon
strong."

"He used to be so when I knew him," returned the preacher, "and I dare
say the twenty years that have passed since then have not changed him
much, for he is a good deal younger