me when he must either stand by his friends like a
man, or slink off like a cur.

Bart accepted the stern necessity, and watching the approach of the
Indians, determined only to fire when he saw pressing need.

The consequence was that a couple of minutes later he saw an Indian dart
from some bushes, and run a dozen yards to a rock by the edge of the
swift river, disappear behind it, and then suddenly his head and
shoulders appeared full in Bart's view; the Indian took quick aim, and
as the smoke rose from his rifle the Beaver uttered a low hissing sound,
and Bart knew that he was hit.

Not seriously apparently, for there was a shot from his hiding-place
directly after, and then Bart saw the Indian slowly draw himself up into
position again, partly over the top of the rock, from whence he was
evidently this time taking a long and careful aim at the brave chief,
who was risking his life for the sake of his English friends.

Bart hesitated no longer. Joses had said that he was a good shot. He
was, and a quick one; and never was his prowess more needed than at that
moment, when, with trembling hands, he brought his rifle to bear upon
the shoulders of the savage. Then for a moment his muscles felt like
iron; he drew the trigger, and almost simultaneously the rifle of the
savage rang out. Then, as the smoke cleared away, Bart saw him standing
erect upon the rock, clutching at vacancy, before falling backwards into
the river with a tremendous splash; and as Bart reloaded, his eyes
involuntarily turned towards the rushing stream, and he saw the
inanimate body swept swiftly by.

"What have I done!" he gasped, as the cold sweat broke out upon his
brow. "Horrible! What a deed to do!" and his eyes seemed fixed upon
the river in the vain expectation of seeing the wretched savage come
into sight again.

Just then he felt a touch upon his arm, and turning sharply found
himself face to face with the Beaver, whose shoulder was scored by a
bullet wound, from which the blood trickled slowly down over his chest.

As Bart faced him he smiled, and grasped the lad's hand, pressing it
between both of his.

"Saved Beaver's life," he said, softly. "Beaver never forgets. Bart is
brave chief."

Bart felt better now, and he had no time for farther thought, the peril
in which they were suddenly appearing too great.

For the Beaver pointed back to where the chimney offered the way of
escape.

"Time to go," the Beaver said. "Co