tant she flew into the room, rushed at a bound
to the fireplace, snatched down her light rifle from its hooks over the
mantel, and, crying, 'Quick, Ethel, your rifle!' was gone again in an
instant.

Mrs. Hardy and Ethel sprang to their feet, too surprised for the moment
to do anything, and then Mrs. Hardy repeated Maud's words, 'Quick,
Ethel, your rifle!'

Ethel seized it, and with her mother ran to the door. Then they saw a
sight which brought a scream from both their lips. Mrs. Hardy fell on
her knees and covered her eyes, while Ethel, after a moment's pause,
grasped the rifle, which had nearly fallen from her hands, and ran
forward, though her limbs trembled so that they could scarcely carry her
on.

The sight was indeed a terrible one. At a distance of two hundred yards,
Hubert was riding for his life. His hat was off, his gun was gone, his
face was deadly pale. Behind him rode three Indians. The nearest one was
immediately behind him, at a distance of scarce two horses' length; the
other two were close to their leader. All were evidently gaining upon
him.

Maud had thrown the gate open, and stood by the post with the barrel of
her rifle resting on one of the wires. 'Steady, Ethel, steady,' she said
in a hard, strange voice, as her sister joined her; 'Hubert's life
depends upon your aim. Wait till I fire, and take the man on the right.
Aim at his chest.'

The sound of Maud's steady voice acted like magic upon her sister; the
mist which had swum before her eyes cleared off; her limbs ceased to
tremble, and her hand grew steady. Hubert was now within a hundred
yards, but the leading Indian was scarce a horse's length behind. He had
his tomahawk already in his hand, in readiness for the fatal blow.
Another twenty yards and he whirled it round his head with a yell of
exultation.

'Stoop, Hubert, stoop!' Maud cried in a loud, clear voice; and
mechanically, with the wild war-whoop behind ringing in his ears, Hubert
bent forward on to the horse's mane. He could feel the breath of the
Indian's horse against his legs, and his heart seemed to stand still.

Maud and her rifle might have been taken for a statue, so immoveable and
rigid did she stand; and then, as the Indian's arm went back for the
blow, crack, and without a word or a cry the Indian fell back, struck
with the deadly little bullet in the centre of the forehead.

Not so silently did Ethel's bullet do its work. A wild cry followed the
report: for an inst