“Did you hit him, Sam?”
“Yes, an’ I reckon I broke his wrist—leas’wise, he drapped the tomahawk. It was a narrer shave fer you, lad.”
“Indeed it was.” Rodney tried to catch his breath, which the sudden drop had knocked out of him. “Do you suppose he is alone?”
“Ain’t supposin’ nuthin jest yit. Are you all right?”
“I—think so.”
Both pressed in close to the rocky wall, so that no one standing above could see them. They listened, but no sound from above reached them.
“Perhaps the Indian ran away,” said Rodney, wiping the blood from where his left hand had been scratched.
“Don’t be too sure, Rodney.”
“If the enemy are so close we ought to warn the others.”
“The rifle shot will do that. Maybe somebuddy will be comin’ this way soon.”