r some moments,
broken at last by the frightened flutter of a bird roused from its
sleep.

Then, as if this little frightened flutter of wings had been a signal,
a dark, snarling shape launched itself from a low branch, and leapt,
with a harsh cry, straight upon the Indian!

There was a yell from Peter; and then followed a second's fearful
rolling, snarling, grunting, worrying confusion in the shadows. But in
that second Dick had unsheathed his knife, cleared the fire at a bound,
and leapt to the rescue.

No need to ask what was the assailant. Only one beast, "the devil of
the woods," was capable of such an attack. And Dick's heart throbbed
as he stood beside that frantic turmoil, lighted only by the uncertain
flicker of the fire, and waited for a chance of getting in a thrust,
fearing also, lest in striking the lynx, he should wound Peter
Many-Names. But on the instant of thinking this, the chance came.
Peter's unyielding hands were grasping the beast's throat, and as they
rolled over and over, its gaunt side was fully exposed for a moment,
and Dick drove in the knife up to the handle.

So strong and true was the blow, that it ended the struggle, and the
Indian was safe, though terribly scratched and torn. Indeed, if the
savage brute had not leapt short in the first instance, Dick's ready
aid might have come too late, and there would have been an end of Peter
Many-Names.

Dick laughed a little uncertainly when it was all over. "That was a
narrow escape," he said, turning to assist Peter to his feet again.
But the Indian had already shaken himself free from the dead lynx, and
now took the English boy's hand in his own, regardless of the pain of
his wounds, as befitted a brave. He always spoke in his own tongue in
those rare moments when he gave way to emotion. And now he began a
long and dignified speech, the meaning of which was not difficult to
gather. "That's all right," Dick interrupted nervously, "you are not
to say any more about it," though, as a matter of fact, he had not
understood more than a few words of the rapid, musical oration.

Peter relapsed into his English. "You my brother now," he said
briefly; "come danger, come death, come anything, my life yours. My
life yours, my home yours, my horses yours, my people yours." He waved
a lordly arm to the four points of the compass, and Dick suppressed a
laugh. Peter's worldly wealth so evidently existed for purposes of
ceremonial gratitude on