And while the old hunter lay upon his face in the wagon, stealthily peering out, and listening for the first approach of his foes, he coolly calculated the chances of the day.
“Six of us left, and we average three rifles apiece—to say nothing of revolvers that are scattered all among the boys. We can load and fire these, perhaps four or five times apiece—not oftener, certainly—that is, if we can only get the opportunity to load and fire them. After that— Well, everybody has got to die some time.”
At this, he stealthily moved around, and peered out at the wagon containing the helpless ones, and he muttered:
“All seems to be quiet there, and I guess none of them have been reached by these bullets whizzing all about them, which may be either good or bad fortune.”
Then as he resumed his position of guard, he cleared his vision with his hand, and added:
“It’s mighty rough on them. We men are always expecting such things, and are sort of ready for it; but for helpless women and children— Helloa! what in the name of Heaven can that be?”
CHAPTER XII. “WHAT IS IT?”
Captain Shields might well give utterance to this exclamation, for just then his eyes were greeted with the most singular sight he had ever seen in all his life. He rubbed his eyes and stared, and finally turned to young Egbert Rodman, who just then crawled into the wagon.