"We are not afraid of you," returned Frank; "but you want to keep your distance, or you will get hurt by us."
"Thot's roight, begorra!" cried Barney, fingering his Winchester. "It's stoofed to th' muzzle, this ould shootin' iron is, wid grapeshot an' canister, an' av Oi leggo wid it, there won't be a red nagur av yez left on his pins."
"Injuns want to talk with white boys," said the half-blood, edging nearer, inch by inch. "Injuns want to hold powwow."
"We are not at all anxious to hold a powwow with you. Stand where you are!"
Up came Frank's rifle a bit.
It was plain that the red ruffians meant to make an assault, and the moment was at hand. They were handling their weapons in a way that told how eager some of them were to shed the blood of the boys.
Barney, in his characteristic, devil-may-care manner, began to hum, "My Funeral's To-morrow." He seemed utterly unable to take matters seriously, however great the danger.
A moment before the rush and encounter must have taken place, all were startled to hear a merry, childish laugh, and a voice saying:
"I knowed I'd find tomebody tomewhere. I wants to tome down. Tate me down, please."
On the top of the bluff, forty feet above the heads of the Indians, stood a little girl, dressed in white. She had golden hair and blue eyes, and, on her lofty perch, she looked like a laughing fairy.