THE WOLF HUNTERS 



through a port-hole which gave a good view for 

 fifty yards up and down the valley. 



I caught a glimpse of the Indian who had fired 

 the hay as he looked out from behind a projecting 

 bank, but could not see enough of him to justify 

 shooting in the uncertain light. Of the Indian 

 who had come near hitting me as I entered the 

 cabin, I could see nothing. As I turned to look 

 again at the first Indian I saw him stealthily move 

 out from his concealment, crouching down, appar- 

 ently peering at the cabin door. Pushing the muz- 

 zle of my carbine through the port-hole in front of 

 me, I took as careful aim at him as I could and 

 fired. I saw that I had hit him, for he dropped 

 his rifle, fell, and rolled into the water but quickly 

 scrambled back to his hiding-place and did not 

 again show himself; but the flash of my rifle had 

 been seen by my watchful neighbor up the ravine, 

 who an instant later sent a bullet through the top 

 of the tent over my head. 



Presently the hay burned out and only the faint 

 light of the moon showed the indistinct objects to 

 me. Still I could see well enough up and down the 

 ravine so that neither Indian could approach the 

 door of the dugout without being seen. I had been 

 standing on a bale of skins, which enabled me to 

 look out of the port-hole, but now got down and cut 

 another port-hole near the bottom of the tent, so 

 that while lying protected by the bales I could 

 watch for the flash of my neighbor's gun when 



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