Dropping down in the snow, the boys watched an interesting chase. The man on snowshoes was rapidly overtaking another who plunged along hampered by sinking at every step.
Sandy clutched Dick by the arm and said hoarsely, fearfully: “That man in front is Moonshine Sam—sure enough.”
“And you can bet the fellow on snowshoes is Mistak,” came back Dick confidently.
“They’re going to fight!” exclaimed Sandy. “What if someone’s killed?”
“We can’t help it, Sandy. It’s their fight. We’re risking our lives if we try to stop it, without killing one of them ourselves, and you know we couldn’t kill in cold blood. Oh, if the policemen were only here!”
Tensely the boys watched the two draw nearer together. When a hundred yards separated them, Moonshine Sam turned, shook his fists over his head, and let out a loud yell. Then he started back. The man was going to fight now that he was in a corner.
Mistak carried only a spear as a long distance weapon. The boys divined that he and his band had long since run out of ammunition for the few firearms they possessed.
Dick and Sandy held their breath as they saw the white Eskimo draw back his arm and pose for a throw. An instant Mistak bent backward, still as a statue, then his body and arm snapped forward simultaneously, like a catapult. The spear shot forward in a low arc toward Moonshine Sam, half as swift as an arrow.
Moonshine Sam fell flat in the snow none too soon, and the whizzing weapon buried itself in the snow a few feet beyond him. Like a flash Moonshine Sam leaped to his feet, wheeled and ran for the spear, pawing frantically in the snow, he at last found the buried spear.
Mistak was making for the other outlaw at a spraddling run, as Moonshine Sam aimed the spear to throw it back. But he had a running target that was purposely bobbing up and down and zig-zagging.
Then the spear flashed through the moonlight, a streak of potent death, but the white outlaw was not an expert spear thrower. The weapon missed Mistak by several feet.
“They’re going to close in,” Dick whispered, burying his fingers into Sandy’s arm in his excitement.
Both outlaws obviously had drawn knives now. Moonshine Sam must have stolen one before he escaped from the igloo. They circled warily. First one then the other advanced, Mistak moving more swiftly on his snowshoes, though his footwork was ponderous enough.