"Get back from the door," said the doctor, speaking rapidly.
"These chaps seem to be somewhat excited.I wish I had my gun," he continued, looking about the tent for a weapon of some sort."This will do," he said, picking up a stout poplar pole that had been used for driving the tent pegs."Stay inside here.Don't move till I tell you.""But they will kill you," cried Moira, laying her hand upon his arm."You must not go out.""Nonsense!" said the doctor almost roughly."Kill me? Not much.
I'll knock some of their blocks off first." So saying, he lifted the flap of the tent and passed out just as the rush of maddened Indians came.
Upon the ladies' tent they fell, kicked the tent poles down, and, seizing the canvas ripped it clear from its pegs.Some moments they spent searching the empty bed, then turned with renewed cries toward the other tent before which stood the doctor, waiting, grim, silent, savage.For a single moment they paused, arrested by the silent figure, then with a whoop a drink-maddened brave sprang toward the tent, his rifle clubbed to strike.Before he could deliver his blow the doctor, stepping swiftly to one side, swung his poplar club hard upon the uplifted arms, sent the rifle crashing to the ground and with a backward swing caught the astonished brave on the exposed head and dropped him to the earth as if dead.
"Take that, you dog!" he cried savagely."Come on, who's next?" he shouted, swinging his club as a player might a baseball bat.
Before the next rush, however, help came in an unexpected form.
The tent flap was pushed back and at the doctor's side stood an apparition that checked the Indians' advance and stilled their cries.It was the Indian boy, clad in a white night robe of Mandy's providing, his rifle in his hand, his face ghastly in the moonlight and his eyes burning like flames of light.One cry he uttered, weird, fierce, unearthly, but it seemed to pierce like a knife through the stillness that had fallen.Awed, sobered, paralyzed, the Indians stood motionless.Then from their ranks ran Chief Trotting Wolf, picked up the rifle of the Indian who still lay insensible on the ground, and took his place beside the boy.
A few words he spoke in a voice that rang out fiercely imperious.
Still the Indians stood motionless.Again the Chief spoke in short, sharp words of command, and, as they still hesitated, took one swift stride toward the man that stood nearest, swinging his rifle over his head.Forward sprang the doctor to his side, his poplar club likewise swung up to strike.Back fell the Indians a pace or two, the Chief following them with a torrential flow of vehement invective.Slowly, sullenly the crowd gave back, cowed but still wrathful, and beginning to mutter in angry undertones.
Once more the tent flap was pushed aside and there issued two figures who ran to the side of the Indian boy, now swaying weakly upon his rifle.
"My poor boy!" cried Mandy, throwing her arms round about him, and, steadying him as he let his rifle fall, let him sink slowly to the ground.
"You cowards!" cried Moira, seizing the rifle that the boy had dropped and springing to the doctor's side."Look at what you have done!" She turned and pointed indignantly to the swooning boy.
With an exclamation of wrath the doctor stepped back to Mandy's aid, forgetful of the threatening Indians and mindful only of his patient.Quickly he sprang into the tent, returning with a stimulating remedy, bent over the boy and worked with him till he came back again to life.
Once more the Chief, who with the Indians had been gazing upon this scene, turned and spoke to his band, this time in tones of quiet dignity, pointing to the little group behind him.Silent and subdued the Indians listened, their quick impulses like those of children stirred to sympathy for the lad and for those who would aid him.Gradually the crowd drew off, separating into groups and gathering about the various fires.For the time the danger was over.
Between them Dr.Martin and the Chief carried the boy into the tent and laid him on his bed.
"What sort of beasts have you got out there anyway?" said the doctor, facing the Chief abruptly.
"Him drink bad whisky," answered the Chief, tipping up his hand.
"Him crazee," touching his head with his forefinger.
"Crazy! Well, I should say.What they want is a few ounces of lead."The Chief made no reply, but stood with his eyes turned admiringly upon Moira's face.
"Squaw--him good," he said, pointing to the girl."No 'fraid--much brave--good.""You are right enough there, Chief," replied the doctor heartily.
"Him you squaw?" inquired the Chief, pointing to Moira.
"Well--eh? No, not exactly," replied the doctor, much confused, "that is--not yet I mean--""Huh! Him good squaw.Him good man," replied the Chief, pointing first to Moira, then to the doctor.
Moira hurried to the tent door.
"They are all gone," she exclaimed."Thank God! How awful they are!""Huh!" replied the Chief, moving out past her."Him drink, him crazee--no drink, no crazee." At the door he paused, and, looking back, said once more with increased emphasis, "Huh! Him good squaw," and finally disappeared.
"By Jove!" said the doctor with a delighted chuckle."The old boy is a man of some discernment I can see.But the kid and you saved the day, Miss Moira.""Oh, what nonsense you are talking.It was truly awful, and how splendidly you--you--""Well, I caught him rather a neat one, I confess.I wonder if the brute is sleeping yet.But you did the trick finally, Miss Moira.""Huh," grunted Mandy derisively, "Good man--good squaw, eh?"
