was
older. For the present, I was willing to cleave to old Matt, as he had
to me.

But now the old man lay upon the ground, silent and motionless. The
crack of the rifle which had sent the ball to his heart was still
ringing in my ears. It was almost instantly followed by another, and I
saw a burly savage drop from his horse, and roll over into the brook.
Kit Cruncher had fired, and was loading his rifle for a second shot. It
was fortunate that we had removed the logs from the bridge, for the
Indians were kept at bay by the deep gully in which the brook flowed.

When the big Indian fell, his comrades set up a fierce howl, for he
seemed to be the leader of the band. Mr. Mellowtone fired next; but his
aim was less certain than that of the hunter. For my own part, heedless
of the howling savages, I stood behind the tree gazing at the prostrate
form of old Matt. I wept bitterly, and should have thrown myself upon
his body if Kit had not sternly commanded me not to move.

The savages were not long in discovering that all the advantage was on
our side, and, with a ringing whoop, they turned their horses and
retreated a short distance.

"They are unhossing theirselves," said Kit. "Don't move, boy!"

"Matt is shot!" I exclaimed. "I must go to him."

"Don't go, boy. You can't help him any now, and you mought git shot if
you show yourself. Don't do it, boy."

"Is Matt dead?" I asked, trembling with emotion.

"Dead as a hammer," replied Kit. "He'll never move hisself again. Hold
still, boy."

"He may be alive, and I want to do something for him," I insisted.

"He hain't moved since he dropped, and I know by the way he went over
that it's all up with Matt. Don't throw your life away, boy."

"Poor Matt," sighed Mr. Mellowtone, from his position near us. "It is a
sad day for him, and for us."

"Keep your eyes wide open, or some o' the rest on us will smell the
ground," added Kit. "The redskins is gittin' down into the brook."

The savages retreated to a point on the stream, where they dismounted,
evidently with the intention of crossing. They picketed their horses,
and we judged that they meant to complete the work which they had
begun.

"We must follow them up," continued Kit. "Boy, take Matt's rifle, and
follow me."

I bent over the form of the fallen patriarch. I placed my hand upon his
heart, but there was no answering throb. He was indeed dead, and my
whole frame was shaken with convulsive grief.

"Don't st