“Now, Black Eyes, keep sharp watch. Bad white men come to-night. Mebbe they try to ketch um sleeping.”
The first half of the night, however, passed without alarm. During these hours the old redskin continued to putter with his roots, which he carefully scraped with a keen knife. At midnight he buried them in the ashes, on which hot coals were heaped, and then directed Bart to lie down and sleep.
“Joe him watch now,” said the old fellow.
Trusting everything to the redskin, Hodge rolled himself in a blanket and slept soundly for two hours. He was awakened by Joe, who stirred him with a moccasin foot.
“Get up, Black Eyes,” said the old fellow, in a whisper. “Pretty soon we fight.”
“Those ruffians?” questioned Bart, as he leaped to his feet.
“They coming,” declared Crowfoot.
He was right. Bland and his desperadoes were creeping on the cabin, hoping to take its defenders by surprise. Crowfoot pointed them out, and when they were near enough, Hodge called from the window for them to halt. Realizing they were discovered, they sprang up and charged.
Instantly Bart and the redskin opened fire on them, Hodge working his repeater swiftly and accurately, while the clear spang of Crowfoot’s rifle was heard at irregular intervals. The ruffians were unprepared for such a defense, and, as they saw several of their number fall and others were wounded, they halted, wavered, then turned and fled. Looking from the window, the starlight showed the defenders a few wounded men dragging themselves away.
“Pretty good,” said Joe. “No more bother to-night.”