THE TEXAN HUNTRESS. 313 
was a desperate one—I seized the old man in my arms, and 
forgetting my lameness, rushed with him towards the door 
of the house. 
I reached it—and found it was closed for the moment. He 
still hel@on to his rifle, and as the door opened to admit us, 
he turned himself in my arms, and coolly presenting it, said 
in a low voice, ‘“ Stop !” 
The word was not fully spoken, when the ring of several 
rifles from the wood was replied to by that of his own. He 
dropped heavily from my arms on his own door-sill. The 
Indians were upon us! I had stuck my pistols into my belt, 
and now I wheeled to face them, standing over the body. The 
clear ring of a rifle above my shoulder, and the staggering 
fall of one of the foremost warriors showed me that “‘ Molly” 
was on hand. The Indians recoiled for a moment, for it was 
the chief of the party that fell beneath the shot—and then 
seeing only myself astride of the body—they rushed on me 
with a yell as vengeful as it was infernal. 
I saw the fierce eyes of “Molly” blazing behind me as she 
screamed— 
“Give it to the Cherokee dogs, my boy!’’ while she plied 
her ram-rod desperately—reloading for another shot. 
I stood at bay with that strange flushed feeling which 
always attends the consummation of despair. It was a wild and 
furious struggle for a moment. The firing of my pistols was 
almost instantly followed by the report of her rifle again— 
this caused the Indians to hesitate slightly, which gave us time 
to drag in the body of the dead or wounded man—we did not 
yet know which. They saw us about to escape, and made a 
rush to prevent the closing of the door. Several of them were 
throwing themselves against it together, and had nearly suc- 
ceeded in the effort—but the frantic woman seemed endued 
with nearly supernatural strength, and with a single stroke, 
felled the foremost with the butt of her rifle—while I held 
