He made good his words as he spoke; and I brought down a second man. Corlaer waited until I had almost finished reloading, and secured two men in a row for target, hitting one in the shoulder and drilling the other through the body. Firing at ease, with our guns in rest, we could not miss; and the Chippewa, with howls of rage, promptly went to cover in the long grass.
This marked the initiation of a second phase of the engagement. The Chippewa were excellent marksmen, and when Corlaer took his second shot they deluged him with bullets that dug up the sods around him and sent him rolling down the bank, spitting dirt out of his mouth. Tawannears and I slid after him, deeming discretion preferable to valor.
If our fusillade had astonished the Chippewa it had been equally disconcerting to the Dakota. They did not know what to make of it. At first they seemed to fear a trap, but when they marked the furious discharge of their enemies that drove us over the bank they evidently decided we must be friends, and struck off from their line of flight at right angles so as to accommodate a union of forces with us.
We, on our part, were concerned to effect this union and at the same time compel the Chippewa to hold off long enough to permit us an opportunity to concert a plan of strategy with the Dakota band. So after trotting a rod down-river we reclimbed the bank and poured a second volley into the line of Chippewa, whose crouching figures were only half-concealed by the waving grass-tips. Before they could shift their aim from the position we had formerly occupied we had slid down the bank and were making for a new vantage-point.
By means of such tactics we were able to force the Chippewa to an advance as slow as it was cautious, for they dared not expose themselves unduly after the punishment we had inflicted in the beginning, and we secured time to work down river to where the remnants of the Dakota band hugged the protection of the bank, arrows notched, and curious glances mirroring the suspicion they still entertained of such unexpected rescuers. But their suspicion faded as we came close enough for them to identify Tawannears and the immense body of the Dutchman.
Their chief, a sinewy giant of forty, with a high-beaked nose and keen, direct gaze, his headdress of golden eagle's feathers, stepped forward to greet us, a light of welcome on his face; and both my friends exclaimed at sight of him.
"Do you know him?" I panted eagerly.
"He is Chatanskah*, Chief of the Wahpeton Council Fire," answered Tawannears briefly. "Many a buffalo he has stalked with Corlaer and Tawannears."
* White Hawk.
Chatanskah exchanged a few curt sentences with Tawannears, who nodded agreement with what he said, and then led his warriors at a dead run toward the junction of the two rivers—the apex of the triangle over which this fighting ranged. The Seneca motioned for us to follow them.