“Idiot!” ejaculated the Boy; “she could have reached her own ighloo.”  The dirty child grinned, and tore off towards the river to watch the fun.  Anna was hidden now by a pile of driftwood.  The Boy ran down a few yards to bring her within range again.  For all his affectation of leisureliness and her obvious fluster, no doubt about it, Joe was gaining on her.  She dropped her hurried walk and frankly took to her heels, Joe doing the same; but as she was nearly as fleet of foot as Muckluck, in spite of her fat, she still kept a lessening distance between herself and her pursuer.

The ragged child had climbed upon the pile of drift-wood, and stood hunched with the cold, his shoulders up to his ears, his hands withdrawn in his parki sleeves, but he was grinning still.  The Boy, a little concerned as to possible reprisals upon so impudent a young woman, had gone on and on, watching the race down to the river, and even across the ice a little way.  He stood still an instant staring as Joe, going now as hard as he could, caught up with her at last.  He took hold of the daughter of the highly-respected Yagorsha, and fell to shaking and cuffing her.  The Boy started off full tilt to the rescue.  Before he could reach them Joe had thrown her down on the ice.  She half got up, but her enemy, advancing upon her again, dealt her a blow that made her howl and sent her flat once more.

“Stop that!  You hear? Stop it!” the Boy called out.

But Joe seemed not to hear.  Anna had fallen face downward on the ice this time, and lay there as if stunned.  Her enemy caught hold of her, pulled her up, and dragged her along in spite of her struggles and cries.

“Let her alone!” the Boy shouted.  He was nearly up to them now.  But Joe’s attention was wholly occupied in hauling Anna back to the village, maltreating her at intervals by the way.  Now the girl was putting up one arm piteously to shield her bleeding face from his fists.  “Don’t you hit her again, or it’ll be the worse for you.”  But again Joe’s hand was lifted.  The Boy plunged forward, caught the blow as it descended, and flung the arm aside, wrenched the girl free, and as Joe came on again, looking as if he meant business, the Boy planted a sounding lick on his jaw.  The Pymeut staggered, and drew off a little way, looking angry enough, but, to the Boy’s surprise, showing no fight.

It occurred to him that the girl, her lip bleeding, her parki torn, seemed more surprised than grateful; and when he said, “You come back with me; he shan’t touch you,” she did not show the pleased alacrity that you would expect.  But she was no doubt still dazed.  They all stood looking rather sheepish, and like actors “stuck” who cannot think of the next line, till Joe turned on the girl with some mumbled question.  She answered angrily.  He made another grab at her.  She screamed, and got behind the Boy.  Very resolutely he widened his bold buck-skin legs, and dared Joe to touch the poor frightened creature cowering behind her protector.  Again silence.