“Jest my plan,” said Old Pegs. “Wait a minnit.”
He turned to assist Dave who was trying to draw out the arrow which had lodged in the fleshy part of the shoulder. But it had not passed quite through, and the barbs would not permit him to draw it out.
“Let me take hold,” said Old Pegs. “Look the other way, Myrtle.”
He grasped the shaft of the arrow, and by a quick movement forced it through the flesh, so that the head appeared. Dave bore the pain without even wincing, and the old man broke off the arrow, threw down the head, and drew out the broken shaft.
“It don’t amount to any thing,” said Dave, cheerily. “Come with me, Myrtle; it won’t be long before the Blackfeet pitch in, and I want a hand in the game.”
“I don’t want to go away,” she answered. “I never raised a rifle against a human being yet, but in a cause like this, I can do good service.”
The red-skins had not yet seen the cabin, but half a dozen were out of the saddle running to and fro in search of Dave—who they knew must be concealed somewhere near at hand.
“They don’t see us yet, I believe,” said Dave, stepping to a loop-hole, “but it won’t be long before they nose us out. Shall I give that skulking fellow a shot, old man?”
“Not yit,” replied Old Pegs. “I don’t want ter hit the fust blow.”
Just then one of the savages discovered the cabin, and set up a yell which quickly called the attention of the rest. Not a few of them had rifles, and dismounting they began to creep up toward the mountain house.