“Party of Injins coming across the plain, on a run, Cap,” he reported. “I reckon we’d better git.”
“Easier said than done,” said the captain, turning aside a blow with his heavy knife. “Shoot that fellow, Ed.”
The borderer brought his rifle to his shoulder, and the savage fell, shot through the heart.
“Have the Indians on the flanks retreated, Ed?” demanded Melton, as he fired a pistol at a savage who was poising his hatchet for a throw, and the savage went down.
“No, they ain’t all gone yet,” replied the man, who was coolly reloading his discharged rifle. “I guess we’d better call in the men and make a rush through these red devils, before the others can come up.”
A signal whistle, well known to the “merry men” of Melton, brought in all upon the flank, and with shouts of victory, all charged upon the broken and demoralized body of Sacs. They had fought bravely, but their courage was not proof against the assault, and they broke and fled in every direction through the woods, pursued by the victorious whites, who only wanted to get deeper into the woods, to avoid the force coming up in their rear. They would not have done this had they known that it was Dick Garrett and his party, bringing as prisoner, Sadie Wescott, whom Minneoba would not leave.
Scouts from the party of Napope having discovered the coming of the disguised whites, and apprised the chief, he hurried out to meet them, and started as he saw who they held as prisoner.
“Ha!” he cried. “Then it is my brother who struck the wigwam of Wescott, and took him prisoner?”
“Yes,” said Garrett. “You see our boss, Will Jackwood, wanted this girl, and sent me to take her.”
“Where is Wescott, now?” demanded Napope.