The warning was not a second too soon. Whistling like a wind that scurries around the gable of a house in winter, a flight of arrows poured into and over the little fort, and others could be heard striking against the front boulder. Several of the darts came through the openings and rattled against the stones, and one transfixed Ferguson’s knapsack, which was in a corner.
“Now, at them once more!”
And the men and boy jumped to their places as before.
The target was not nearly so good. The Indians had separated and were spreading out. They could be seen running in different directions, evidently carrying out some command of their chief, and a few minutes later a dozen commenced climbing trees, keeping their bodies on the side opposite the fort.
“This is different,” exclaimed the señor. “Pick off all you can while you have the opportunity, for we shall soon be compelled to seek shelter.”
The guns were kept busy until the barrels were so hot that they burned the hands, but only one Majerona fell—a bold fellow who had run forward of the others, and whom it was Harvey’s lot to make bite the dust, at which the captain patted the boy on the shoulder and said:—
“I wish I had a lad like you. If God spares me, I am going to make it my business to tell Señor Dartmoor what a son he has.”
A little later he called, “Under cover, all of you!” and they darted beneath the thick mass of boughs that he had placed against the side of the boulder. Then they knew with what wisdom he had constructed this protection, for arrows commenced to rain into the enclosure from all sides, some whistling low over the boulders, others dropping as if from the skies. They came with such force that those which fell without stood upright in the ground, and although others penetrated the protecting branches, they lost their force and none of the defenders of the fort was harmed. However, as a further protection, they lay flat on their faces. This lasted for full five minutes; then there was a lull, and Señor Cisneros, creeping to an opening, said:—
“They are forming again. No, don’t fire,” and he restrained Hope-Jones. “I have an idea.”
“What is it?”