With a cry like the scream of a beast, the girl leaped to her feet. She tore the heavy mittens from her hands, and reached for the revolver which lay in the snow at her side. She leaped toward MacNair who had regained his feet, red with the life-blood of the Indian who lay upon his back in the snow, staring upward wide-eyed, unseeing, throatless. She called loudly, but her voice was lost in the mighty uproar, and MacNair sprang up the ladder.
Like a flash Chloe followed, holding her heavy revolver as he had held his. She glanced upward; MacNair had disappeared over the edge of the stockade. The next instant she, too, had reached the top. She paused, looking downward. MacNair was scrambling to his feet. Ten feet away a man levelled a gun at him. He fired from his knee, and the man pitched forward. Upon him, from behind, rushed two men swinging their rifles high. They had almost reached him when Chloe fired straight down. The nearest man dropped his rifle and staggered against the wall. The other paused and glanced upward. Chloe shot squarely into his face. The bullet ripped downward, splitting his jaw. The man rushed screaming over the snow, tearing with both hands at the wound.
MacNair was upon his feet now. Beyond him the fighting was hand to hand. With clubbed guns and axes, Lapierre's men were meeting the Indians who swarmed over the walls. Once more the wild wolf-cry rang in the girl's ears as MacNair leaped into the thick of the fight. The girl became conscious that someone was pounding at her feet. She glanced downward. Two Indians were upon the ladder waiting to get over the wall. Without hesitation she tightened her grip upon her revolver and leaped into the stockade. She sprawled awkwardly in the snow. She felt her shoulder seized viciously. Someone was jerking her to her feet. She looked up and encountered the gleaming eyes of Lapierre.
Chloe tried to raise her revolver, but Lapierre kicked it from her hand. There was the sound of a heavy impact. Lapierre's hand was jerked from her shoulder; he was hurled backward, cursing, into the snow. One of the Indians who had followed Chloe up the ladder had leaped squarely upon the quarter-breed's shoulders. Like a flash Lapierre drew his automatic, but the Indian threw himself upon the gun and tore it from his grasp. Then he scrambled to his feet. Lapierre, too, was upon his feet in an instant.