The numbness left him, slowly he raised a hand to
his chin, filled with a terrible fear. It was there--his jaw, hard,
unsmashed, but wet with blood. He thought the bullet had struck him
there.
"A knockout," were the first words, spoken slowly and thickly, but with
a great gasp of relief. "A splinter hit me on the jaw.... I'm all
right...."
He sat up dizzily, with the Girl's arm about him. In the three or four
minutes of forgetfulness neither had noticed that the firing had ceased.
Now there came a tremendous blow at the door. It shook the cabin. A
second blow, a third--and the decaying saplings were crashing inward!
David struggled to rise, fell back, and pointed to the revolver.
"Quick--the revolver!"
Marge sprang to it. The door crashed inward as she picked it up, and
scarcely had she faced about when their enemies were rushing in, with
Henry and Hauck in their lead, and Brokaw just behind them. With a last
effort David fought to gain his feet. He heard a single shot from the
revolver, and then, as he rose staggeringly, he saw Marge fighting in
Brokaw's arms. Hauck came for him, the demon of murder in his face, and
as they went down he heard scream after scream come from the Girl's
lips, and in that scream the agonizing call of "_Tara! Tara! Tara!_"
Over him he heard a sudden roar, the rush of a great body--and with that
thunder of Tara's rage and vengeance there mingled a hideous, wolfish
snarl from Baree.
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