hit Bob again. The others fell back, Bob
faced his opponent, and, goaded now beyond the power of
self-restraint, struck with all the power of his young arm at Micmac
John. The latter was on his guard, however, and warded the blow. Quick
as a flash he drew his knife, and before the others realized what he
was about to do, made a vicious lunge at Bob's breast.

II

OFF TO THE BUSH

On the left breast of Bob's woollen shirt there was a pocket, and in
this pocket was a small metal box of gun caps, which Bob always
carried there when he was away from home, for he seldom left home
without his gun. It was fortunate for him that it was there now, for
the point of the knife struck squarely over the place where the box
lay. It was driven with such force by the half-breed's strong arm that
it passed clear through the metal, which, however, so broke the blow
that the steel scarcely scratched the skin beneath. Before another
plunge could be made with the knife the men sprang in and seized
Micmac John, who submitted at once without a struggle to the
overpowering force, and permitted himself to be disarmed. Then he was
released and stood back, sullen and defiant. For several moments not a
word was spoken.

Finally Dick Blake took a threatening step towards the Indian, and
shaking his fist in the latter's face exclaimed:

"Ye dirty coward! Ye'd do murder, would ye? Ye'd kill un, would ye?"

"Hold on," said Douglas, "'bide a bit. 'Twill do no good t' beat un,
though he's deservin' of it." Then to the half-breed: "An' what's
ailin' of ye th' evenin', John? 'Twas handy t' doin' murder ye were."

John saw the angry look in the men's eyes, and the cool judgment of
Douglas standing between him and bodily harm, and deciding that tact
was the better part of valour, changed his attitude of defiance to one
of reconciliation. He could not take revenge now for his fancied
wrong. His Indian cunning told him to wait for a better time. So he
extended his hand to Bob, who, dazed by the suddenness of the
unexpected attack, had not moved. "Shake hands, Bob, an' call it
square. I was hot with anger an' didn't know what I was doin'. We
won't quarrel."

Bob, acting upon the motto his mother had taught him--"Be slow to
anger and quick to forgive," took the outstretched hand with the
remark,

"'Twere a mighty kick I gave ye, John, an' enough t' anger ye, an' no
harm's done."

Big Dick Blake would not have it so at first, and invited th