"Quick--Wabi--Mukoki!" The white boy was on his knees now, the smoking rifle still leveled toward the rocks.

Out there, in the thick shadows beyond the fire, a body was groveling and kicking in death agonies.

In another instant the gaunt form of the old warrior was beside Rod, his rifle at his shoulder, and over their heads reached Wabigoon's arm, the barrel of his heavy revolver glinting in the firelight.
For a full minute they crouched there, breathless, waiting.
"They've gone!" broke Wabi in a tense whisper.
"I got one of them!" replied Rod, his voice trembling with excitement.
Mukoki slipped back and burrowed a hole through the side of the shelter.
He could see nothing.

Slowly he slipped out, his rifle ready.

The others could hear him as he went.