The flurry awoke the women in the Conestoga, and the excitement roused the whole camp. Dark forms appeared from the interior of the wagons, and hearing the voice of the guide, most of them hurried to him to learn what they were to do.
Shagbark quickly explained the situation. The emigrants were about to be attacked, for there could be no doubt that their enemies were near at hand. Every man was needed, for much depended upon the vigor of the defense. Dividing the force so as to guard every point, the hunter cautioned the defenders to shield themselves as best they could, and to fire on the instant the least chance offered to do so with effect.
Once more the result of his training showed. The oxen and horses were in the middle of the open space, as far beyond danger as was possible; the women obeyed orders by keeping themselves and children behind the bullet-proof sides of the Conestogas. No more sleep for the mothers so long as the peril threatened. They listened, peered out and put up their prayers to heaven.
This tension had lasted but a few minutes, when the grass surrounding the camp became flashes of flame. From a score of places, representing so many different points of the compass, rifles gushed fire, [the sharp cracks of] the [weapons rang out in the stillness], and the thud and pinging of rifle balls were everywhere. In two instances the escapes of the defenders could not have been narrower. Abner Fleming felt the zip of a bullet which grazed his forehead, and one of his neighbors on the other side of the circle was scraped by a pellet of lead which abraded an arm.
Not an assailant could be seen. Leaving their ponies at a distance, the Indians had crept through the protecting grass to the nearest point prudent, and, crouching low or lying on their faces, fired into the camp. In the same moment the guns began popping from behind and alongside the wagons. Each man aimed at the flash nearest to him, for the instant illumination was his only guide. Then as quickly as the redskins could reload, they fired again, but always from a different point. They were using the trick common among white rangers of rolling aside the instant after pulling trigger. In the briefest conceivable time the whites discharged their weapons, but in that flitting interval, their enemies had shifted their position, and the bullets whizzed harmlessly past in the grass, or buried themselves in the earth. Inasmuch as each party rarely saw a member of the other, it was inevitable that most of the shots went wild.
Matters were “humming” thus, when the last person in the world that would have been believed capable of anything of the kind, did something so clever that it brought a compliment from Shagbark himself. That person was Jethro Mix.
When he recovered his gun, he leaped out of the wagon. The rear of the latter faced outward. Alden stood close to the body, and used the broad-tired wheel as a partial protection. No other man was near, they having been sent to different points. Instead of remaining in the vehicle and firing over the tailboard, where only his head would have been exposed, Jethro stood in the open—that is, directly in front of the cumbersome structure. He had not the benefit even of shadow, but must have been in plain sight of one or more foes in the grass.
“Don’t do that, Jeth!” called his young master in a guarded voice. “You’ll be shot.”
“Git out!” replied the negro, with his rifle at his shoulder, and alert for his opportunity. “I’m as safe as you is; ’tend to your own bus’ness.”