ide.

A little handful stuck out to the last, disdaining to flee. They came at
us ferociously, and nearly broke through our line. I finished one, and
Captain Rudstone and Baptiste killed two more. A fourth Indian--a
stalwart, hideously painted savage--carried a musket. He suddenly
leveled it and fired, and I heard a sharp cry behind me. I looked round
in time to see Griffith Hawke stagger, clutch at the rail and fall
heavily.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A BLACK NIGHT.

At the time, so exciting and dangerous was the situation, I scarcely
realized what had happened. The fight was still raging, and I was in the
thick of it. Leaving others to render aid to the factor, I sprang with
clubbed musket at the redskin who had shot him. I struck hard and true,
and I yelled hoarsely as he dropped with a shattered skull. My comrades
finished several more, and now the survivors--four in number--turned and
fled. One scrambled safely over the stockade; the other three were cut
down as they ran.

That ended the struggle. Again, and with terrible loss, our desperate
foes had been repulsed. The moaning of the wounded was drowned in hearty
cheers, and the musketry fire had dwindled to a few straggling shots.
There was a sudden cry from the watch-tower that the enemy were in full
retreat, and I ran to a loophole to see if this good news could be
verified. It was true enough! The Indians were fading away into the
curtain of snow, and in a manner that showed they had no intention of
stopping short cf the forest, since none took to shelter in the
clearing.

I peered out for a few moments, until not a savage was in sight. Then
the triumphant clamor within the fort seemed to change to an angry and
mournful key, and I heard the factors name called from mouth to mouth.
As I turned from the loophole, Captain Rudstone met me face to face.

"He wants you," he said. "Come at once."

"Who?" I asked mechanically.

"Griffith Hawke, of course. Surely you knew he had been shot. He is
dying, I believe."

I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. The captain looked
at me keenly for an instant, and then strode off. I followed at his
heels, reeling like a drunken man, and with my thoughts in such a whirl
as I cannot describe.

Griffith Hawke dying! It was difficult to grasp the meaning of the
words. At first I felt bitter grief and remorse for the untimely end of
the man who had been