THE BATTLE ON THE SHORE

My father gave me a frontier maxim once, which
ran, '' If you must fight, strike first, and strike hard/'
The words flashed in my memory, and I put them to
the test straightway. These prowling savages were
apparently unaware of my predicament; their sole
thought was with the boat floating away lakeward
down the stream. At all cost, they must be blocked
in any purpose of pursuit. These were the thoughts
that darted through my brain like fire through stubble.
How many opposed me, how desperate would be the
struggle, were matters of which I did not stop to think.
I could at least busy them until the fugitives were
safe; after that, it was God's affair, and theirs. My
rifle was wet and useless from my recent tumble ; but
before the group at the water's edge even saw me I
was fairly upon them, striking fiercely with my gun-
stock, and two savages went down, shrieking from
pain and surprise, before so much as a return blow
reached me.
It was not a noisy battle ; from the outset it was
too fierce and rapid for any waste of breath. Never
did I need my strength of body more, nor did the long
training of my father come in better play. I made that
long rifle-barrel both club and sword, knife and axe
in one, striking, thrusting, clubbing, in the mad fury
with which desperation bids a man battle for his life.
