In a few moments he spoke.
"Now we give 'em--devil!" Eight pursuers on snow-shoes were in the open of the dip.

Six of them had reached the lake.

Rod held his fire.

He knew that it was now more important for him to recover his wind than to fight, and he drew great drafts of air into his lungs while his two comrades leveled their rifles.

He could fire after they were done if it was necessary.
There was slow deadly deliberation in the way Mukoki and Wabigoon sighted along their rifle-barrels.