Once more they went on watch, and slowly the minutes went by. Then Joe suddenly thrust out his gun-barrel and discharged the weapon.
Another yell followed, and an Indian who had been in hiding behind the stone wall of the garden fell forward, shot through the shoulder. But he, too, managed to crawl away and disappeared into the forest.
This was the last of the alarms. Evidently the Indians imagined the cabin well protected, and they did not dare to make a rush. Slowly the morning dawned, and hardly had the sun peeped over the trees than they saw Daniel Boone riding toward the cabin at full speed, followed by half a dozen frontiersmen.
“Hurrah, here is Colonel Boone!” cried Joe, and he threw open the door to receive the great hunter.
“Are you all safe here?” demanded Boone, with a quick glance around.
“Yes, we are all safe,” answered Harry; “but we have had a pretty hard night of it,” and he told their story.
“The Indians attacked seven of the cabins in this settlement and some cabins further off,” said Daniel Boone. “A small party of ’em also came to the fort. But we have sent them about their business with the loss of but one man—old Wimbley—who was brutally murdered in the woods. Three of the redskins were killed in the various fights and there are probably a dozen wounded.”
“Who led the raid, do you know that?” asked Joe.
“Long Knife. He is now at the head of all the tribes in this neighborhood. Red Feather is dead.”
Daniel Boone was out rounding up the settlers to go after the Indians. Joe readily agreed to go along, leaving Harry to watch over those at the log cabin.