W. C. Tuttle

“ In side of a minute the cabin was lighted with the glow, and the black smoke was seeping out through the chinking.
Somewhere a man yelled a warning, but Bud was unable to tell whether it was a white man or an Indian. The flames roared against the seasoned pine of the door, and the room was filling with smoke.
Then came an Indian’s voice, crying a warning. Bud sprang to the wall and climbed like a monkey, clinging with tooth and nail to the rough logs. Sideways he moved until he was directly over the door, where the stifling smoke boiled out of the unchinked logs. ”

“ Bud’s strangle-hold had caused the Indian’s body to grow limp and his hands relaxed. Suddenly Bud threw himself away, as though trying to disentangle himself, but as the gun butt swished downward he jerked the Indian almost over him.
Came the dull thud of hardwood on yielding bone. Quick as a cat, Bud flung his opponent aside, rolled over and sprang to his feet. The other Indian yelled and sprang after him, rifle up raised, thinking that Bud was about to escape, but instead of running away, Bud dug his toes into the soft dirt and came back like a charging moose. ”

“ The Indian grunted hoarsely, dropped forward from the crushing weight and Bud pitched sideways into the other Indian, knocking him backward and out of the cabin by the sheer weight of his attack.
They went down into the mud, rolling over and over. The Indian had lost his rifle, and most of his breath had been knocked from his body, but he clawed wildly at Bud, fighting like a wild animal. ”