The ground rose a little and became rougher. The lights from the Indian fires had sunk almost out of sight behind them, and a dense thicket lay before them. Something stirred in the thicket, and the eyes of Shif'less Sol caught a glimpse of a human shoulder. His heart sank like a plummet in a pool. The Indians were ahead of them. They would be caught, and would be carried back to become the victims of the terrible tomahawk. The figure in the bushes rose a little higher, the muzzle of a rifle was projected, and flame leaped from the steel tube. But it was neither Shif'less Sol nor Paul who fell. They heard a cry behind them, and when Shif'less Sol took a hasty glance backward he saw one of the Mohawks fall. The three who were left hesitated and stopped. When a second shot was fired from the bushes and another Mohawk went down, the remaining two fled. Shif'less Sol understood now, and he rushed into the bushes, dragging Paul after him. Henry, Tom, and Long Jim rose up to receive them. “So you wuz watchin' over us!” exclaimed the shiftless one joyously. “It wuz you that clipped off the first Mohawk, an' we didn't even notice the shot.” “Thank God, you were here!” exclaimed Paul. “You don't know what Sol and I have seen!” Overwrought, he fell forward, but his comrades caught him. CHAPTER XI. THE MELANCHOLY FLIGHT Paul revived in a few minutes. They were still lying in the bushes, and when he was able to stand up again, they moved at an angle several hundred yards before they stopped. One pistol was thrust into Paul's hand and another into that of Shif'less Sol. “Keep those until we can get rifles for you,” said Henry. “You may need 'em to-night.” They crouched down in the thicket and looked back toward the Indian camp. The warriors whom they had repulsed were not returning with help, and, for the moment, they seemed to have no enemy to fear, yet they could still see through the woods the faint lights of the Indian camps, and to Paul, at least, came the echoes of distant cries that told of things not to be written. “We saw you captured, and we heard Sol's warning cry,” said Henry. “There was nothing to do but run. Then we hid and waited a chance for rescue.” “It would never have come if it had not been for Timmendiquas,” said Paul. “Timmendiquas!” exclaimed Henry. “Yes, Timmendiquas,” said Paul, and then he told the story of “The Bloody Rock,” and how, in the turmoil and excitement attending the flight of the last four, Timmendiquas had cut the bonds of Shif'less Sol and himself. “I think the mind o' White Lightnin', Injun ez he is,” said Shif'less Sol, “jest naterally turned aginst so much slaughter an' torture o' prisoners.” “I'm sure you're right,” said Henry. “'Pears strange to me,” said Long Jim Hart, “that Timmendiquas was made an Injun. He's jest the kind uv man who ought to be white, an' he'd be pow'ful useful, too. I don't jest eggzactly understan' it.”