“Oh, Mrs. Parsons, Harry is killed!”
It was Harmony who uttered the cry, for she had seen Harry go down with the two arrows sticking into him.
“My son killed!” screamed Mrs. Parsons, rushing forward to where she could catch sight of the form in Joe’s arms. “Oh, Harry! Harry! is it true that the Indians have slain thee?” she wailed.
“I don’t believe he is dead,” said Joe, his own face white and drawn. “He is struck in the leg and the arm.”
“Bring him to yonder cabin,” said the distracted mother, and Joe did as directed. Blood was flowing freely from Harry’s wounds and it was seen that he had fainted from the shock and from weakness.
“If those arrows are poisoned he will surely die,” came from Cora.
“They are not poisoned,” said Daniel Boone, who had walked up and who examined the shafts closely. “Bind up his wounds with care, and I warrant he will pull through.”
At once Mrs. Parsons and the girls did all they could for the sufferer. In the meantime other flaming arrows were coming into the inclosure, and Joe had to rush away once more, to do his full share in extinguishing the fires that sprang up.
Luckily the pioneers had a never-failing supply of water direct from the river on which the fort was located, so in spite of the flaming arrows they managed to keep the various conflagrations under control. Seeing this, the Indians withdrew once more, to consider another plan for defeating the hated palefaces.
It was now sometime after noon and all were hungry. A hasty meal was prepared, and as hastily eaten, and the men continued on guard. As all remained quiet, Joe stole to the cabin, to see how Harry was faring.