"Oh, you guess not?" said Doug, apparently much amused. "You guess not? Well, we'll see, Mr. Fine-hair; we'll see." Thereupon, he rested his gun against a tree, stepped quickly past Dic, and seized Rita around the waist. He was drawing her head backward to help himself when Dic knocked him down. Patsy Clark then sprang upon Dic, and, in imitation of his chief, fell to the ground. Doug and Patsy at once rose to their feet and rushed toward Dic. Rita screamed, as of course any right-minded woman would have done, and, clasping her hands in terror, looked on fascinated and almost paralyzed. Patsy came first and again took a fall. This time, from necessity or inclination,--probably the latter,--he did not rise, but left the drunken Douglas to face Dic single-handed and alone. Though tall and strong, Dic was by no means the equal of Doug in the matter of bulk, and in a grappling match Doug could soon have killed him. Dic fully understood this, and, being more active than his huge foe, endeavored to keep him at arm's length. In this he was successful for a time; but at last the grapple came, and both men fell to the ground--Doug Hill on top. Poor Rita was in a frenzy of terror. She could not even scream. She could only press her hands to her heart and look. When Dic and Doug fell to the ground, Patsy Clark, believing himself safe, rose to a sitting posture, and Doug cried out to him:-- "Give me your knife, Patsy, give me your knife." Patsy at once responded by placing his hunting-knife in Doug's left hand. Dic saw his imminent danger and with his right hand clasped Doug's left wrist in a grasp that could not be loosened. After several futile attempts to free his wrist, Doug tossed the knife over to his right side. It fell a few inches beyond his reach, and he tried to grasp it. Rita saw that very soon he would reach the knife, and Dic's peril brought back her presence of mind. Doug put forth terrific efforts to reach the knife, and, despite Dic's resistance, soon had it in his grasp. In getting the knife, however, Doug gave Dic an opportunity to throw him off, and he did so, quickly springing to his feet. Doug was on his feet in a twinkling, and rushed upon Dic with uplifted knife. Dic knew that he could not withstand the rush, and thought his hour had come; but the sharp crack of a rifle broke the forest silence, and the knife fell from Doug's nerveless hand, his knees shook under him, his form quivered spasmodically for a moment, and he plunged forward on his face. Dic turned and saw Rita standing back of him, holding Doug's rifle to her shoulder, a tiny curl of blue smoke issuing from the barrel. The girl's face turned pale, the gun fell from her hands, her eyes closed, and she would have fallen had not Dic caught her in his arms. He did not so much as glance at Doug, but at once carried the unconscious Rita home with all the speed he could make.