With the cat-like quickness which he always showed in moments of danger, Old Pegs sprung to the door and dropped the heavy bars in their places, while Myrtle closed and barred the blinds. It was not done a moment too soon, for they heard the rapid beat of hoofs and could tell by the sounds that a large party of Indians were in the valley. Rafe Norris stepped to one of the loop-holes always left when a cabin is built in an Indian country, and looked out and saw that it was the band of Whirlwind. “Now then, what’s the ticket?” demanded Old Pegs. “Is it going ter be a b’ar-fight?” “There seems to be no other course,” replied Norris. “Oh, yes, thar is,” replied the old hunter. “I’ve got more than one string to my bow, and we kin fight or hide, jest ez you like.” “My plan would be to get the lady into the hiding-place you speak of, and then teach these Indians what it means to attack three well-armed white men.” “Jest my plan,” said Old Pegs. “Wait a minnit.” He turned to assist Dave who was trying to draw out the arrow which had lodged in the fleshy part of the shoulder. But it had not passed quite through, and the barbs would not permit him to draw it out. “Let me take hold,” said Old Pegs. “Look the other way, Myrtle.” He grasped the shaft of the arrow, and by a quick movement forced it through the flesh, so that the head appeared. Dave bore the pain without even wincing, and the old man broke off the arrow, threw down the head, and drew out the broken shaft. “It don’t amount to any thing,” said Dave, cheerily. “Come with me, Myrtle; it won’t be long before the Blackfeet pitch in, and I want a hand in the game.” “I don’t want to go away,” she answered. “I never raised a rifle against a human being yet, but in a cause like this, I can do good service.” The red-skins had not yet seen the cabin, but half a dozen were out of the saddle running to and fro in search of Dave—who they knew must be concealed somewhere near at hand. “They don’t see us yet, I believe,” said Dave, stepping to a loop-hole, “but it won’t be long before they nose us out. Shall I give that skulking fellow a shot, old man?” “Not yit,” replied Old Pegs. “I don’t want ter hit the fust blow.” Just then one of the savages discovered the cabin, and set up a yell which quickly called the attention of the rest. Not a few of them had rifles, and dismounting they began to creep up toward the mountain house. “Wait a minnit, boys,” said Old Pegs. “We’ll give ’em a most immortal thrashing afore sundown or my name ain’t Old Pegs. Thunder; what’s that?” A rattling volley was suddenly poured into the Blackfeet from the rear, and the scouts who had been seen crawling up to the cabin went back with wild yells of surprise, and sprung into the saddle, while counter yells arose from the front and flanks. “Je—whitteker!” yelled Old Pegs. “Hear the onnatril varmint sound ther loud alarums. Who be they—who in thunder be they?” “Perhaps it is the brigade,” said Myrtle, hopefully.