Cleve was a bad shot, slow at reacting, and often unconscious of his surroundings, but fortunately, none of these factors manifested themselves. Deimos gave Cleve just enough warning to take out his pistol and hide behind a tree. Cleve couldn't have chosen a better hiding spot.
When the two sharpteeth dashed out of the brush, neither saw him. One of them charged Deimos and was dueling with him, and the other was headed right for the fish that he and Deimos dropped. Not wanting to accidentally shoot Deimos, Cleve decided to go for the sharptooth who was trying to steal the fish.
The sharptooth stood no chance against Cleve's pistol. Despite being a bad shot, Cleve had the sharptooth at almost point-blank range. Cleve was clearly within the sharptooth's attacking distance, but the sharptooth, for some reason, took no action. Maybe it was because of Cleve's faint and strange scent, or maybe it was because the sharptooth didn't think of Cleve as a threat. Cleve exploited this advantage.
Cleve aimed and fired a shot at the sharptooth, who was trying to snatch away a few fish in his jaws. The bullet hit the sharptooth in the base of the neck, and it fell to the ground, mortally wounded.
Cleve quickly glanced at Deimos, who manged to bite his attacker in the neck. Cleve rushed forward and shot the sharptooth who was attacking Deimos, just to make sure that it was dead.
From what Cleve could see, Deimos's leg injury was serious. "We need to get you back to camp," Cleve said to Deimos, "That wound needs immediate medical attention."
Cleve tried to help Deimos up. "Can you still walk?" Cleve asked, "And about these residents of the Great Valley, they don't seem very friendly." Cleve pointed at the dead sharptooth, completely unaware of the shadow looming behind him.