MIKE FINK, THE KEEL-BOATMAN. 179 
But in the midst of the witchery of this quiet scene, 
there sounded forth the terrible rifle, and the more 
terrible war-whoop of the Indian. One of the boat- 
men, asleep on deck, gave a stifled groan, turned upon 
his face, and with a quivering motion, ceased to live. 
Not so with his companions—they in an instant, as 
men accustomed to danger and sudden attacks, sprang 
ready-armed to their feet; but before they could dis- 
cover their foes, seven sleek and horribly painted say- 
ages, leaped from the hill into the boat. The firing of 
the rifle was useless, and each man singled out a foe, and 
met him with the drawn knife. 
The struggle was quick and fearful; and deadly 
blows were given, amid screams and imprecations that 
rent the air. Yet the voice of Mike Fink could be 
heard in encouraging shouts above the clamor. 
“Give it to them, boys!” he cried, ‘ cut their hearts 
out ! choke the dogs! Here's h-ll a-fire and the river 
rising!” Then clenching with the most powerful of the 
assailants, he rolled with him upon the deck of the boat. 
Powerful as Mike was, the Indian seemed nearly a 
match for him. The two twisted and writhed like ser- 
pents,—now one seeming to have the advantage, and 
then the other. 
In all this confusion there might occasionally be 
seen glancing in the moonlight the blade of a knife ; but 
at whom the thrusts were made, or who wielded it, could 
not be discovered. 
