“I—I’m not yet dead,” the sufferer managed to say. “But I reckon I am out of th—this fight.”
“I am so thankful he was not killed,” said Mrs. Parsons. “But oh, if this cruel fighting was only at an end!” And she covered her face with her apron.
Slowly the afternoon dragged by and not a single sign of an Indian was seen.
“Goin’ to wait until night,” said Pep Frost “Injuns allers like to fight after dark. Reckon we’ll have an all-fired hot time atween now an’ sun-up to-morrow.”
“Well, we must take what comes,” answered Joe. His own heart felt like a lump of lead in his bosom. With his father and his mother missing, and also Mr. Parsons and Clara, and with Harry seriously wounded, the future looked black indeed.
“If the Indians manage to get in here it will be all up with us,” he reasoned.
Pep Frost was right, the Indians were waiting for nightfall, and hardly had darkness come over the fort, than the attack was renewed with vigor. Arrows flew in all directions, and more than one tomahawk came whizzing over the stockade and close to some pioneer’s head. As in the daytime the yells of the red men were frightful.
Joe and Pep Frost had been stationed at a certain angle of the fort. Just beyond was a high rock, and half a dozen of the enemy were secreted behind this. Two had muskets, and they fired whenever they caught the least sign of anybody in the stronghold.
“We must try to plug them Injuns,” said Frost. “Joey, you keep yer eye glued on the right o’ the rocks an’ I’ll watch the left. Shoot the fust rascal ez shows himself.”
Joe did as he was bidden, and stood at the loophole with his hand ready on the trigger of his rifle.