Captain Manly’s attack, however, he did not understand; for the soldiers did not pass near the tree, and the confusion and clamor, the horrid yells that rent the air, and the tramp of the contending parties in the dim twilight, seemed like the chaos of a whirlwind,–the fight was so sudden and so soon over,–and he dared not leave the tree after the battle, not knowing what it all meant. He had a bewildered idea that there had been an attack on the Indians by a party of whites, but which had been victorious he could not tell. So he watched on, trying to determine this point, until late in the night, when he saw a dark body moving cautiously from the cabin.
“The Indians have taken the cabin,” he concluded, “and now they’ll burn our house as they did the others.”
And yet it puzzled him to see how closely together the savages kept, instead of being scattered 247 about in all directions, as they were before. He could see them moving quietly away, and thought some of them were mounted on their ponies. After they were well out of sight, resting Bub’s head against the skin powder-bag,–for the little fellow, overcome by weariness, had fallen asleep,–he crawled from his hiding-place and reconnoitred. Suddenly he stumbled over a dead Indian, lying with his rifle beside him; and soon he came across another. But all was still in the cabin.
“There has been a battle,” said Charlie to himself, exultantly, “and the Indians are driven away;” and he entered the house.
All was dark and quiet; so, feeling his way to the chimney, he raked open the ashes, and found a few sparks. Going out, he gathered twigs and limbs, and, heaping them on the hearth, blew them into a blaze; then running to the tree, he awakened Bub, and hurried him to the cabin, and returned for his Crusoe provisions and ammunition.
“Where’s father and mother?” asked Bub, looking round in dismay.
“I think,” said Charlie, soothingly, with a profound air, “that the settlers have got together and driven off the Indians, and taken our folks where they’ll be safe; and now, Bub, we’ll live here like Robinson Crusoe on the island, and you shall be 248 my Friday till our folks come back; for, you see, they’ll find out that we ain’t with them, and they’ll come and take us away.”
“Can’t we go where our folks is now?” inquired Bub, beginning to cry.
“It’s so dark we can’t find them,” said Charlie.
“Won’t the Indians come and hurt us?”