be done, he had nearly succeeded in rendering him unable to do anything
at all.

The shot was the signal for another onslaught. Once more the woods rang
with fiendish yells and rattling volleys. Bigfoot, with the agility and
strength of a gorilla, leaped up and over the stockade and sprung down
into Jackson's arms, while Darvall and Crux resumed their almost
ubiquitous process of defence, and Buttercup's weapon again thundered
forth its defiance.

This time the fight was more protracted. Bigfoot's career was indeed
stopped for the time being, for Jackson not only crushed the life almost
out of him by an unloving embrace, but dealt him a prize-fighter's blow
which effectually stretched him on the ground. Not a moment too soon,
however, for the white man had barely got rid of the red one, when
another savage managed to scale the wall. A blow from the butt of
Jackson's rifle dropped him, and then the victor fired so rapidly, and
with such effect, that a second time the Reds were repulsed.

Jackson did not again indulge in meditation, but blew a shrill blast on
a dog-whistle--a preconcerted signal--on hearing which his two comrades
made for the house door at full speed.

Only one other of the Indians, besides the two already mentioned, had
succeeded in getting over the stockade. This man was creeping up to the
open door of the house, and, tomahawk in hand, had almost reached it
when Dick Darvall came tearing round the corner.

"Hallo! Crux," cried Dick, "that you?"

The fact that he received no reply was sufficient for Dick, who was too
close to do more than drive the point of his rifle against the chest of
the Indian, who went down as if he had been shot, while Dick sprang in
and held open the door. A word from Jackson and Crux as they ran
forward sufficed. They passed in and the massive door was shut and
barred, while an instant later at least half-a-dozen savages ran up
against it and began to thunder on it with their rifle-butts and
tomahawks.

"To your windows!" shouted Jackson, as he sprang up the wooden
stair-case, three steps at a time. "Fresh rifles here, Mary!"

"Yes, father," came in a silvery and most unwarlike voice from the hall
below.

Another moment and three shots rang from the three sides of the house,
and of the three Indians who were at the moment in the act of clambering
over the stockade, one fell inside and two out. Happily, daylight soon
began to make objects distinctly visible