"Who's there?" called Perkins, in a shiver. "If you don't answer I'll shoot."
Nevertheless, no answer was evoked by such a threat and the settler made up his mind that if he could not effect an orderly retreat he must make some kind of a fight. Accordingly, he peered ahead in the darkness, seeking a view of the crouching redskin, with the purpose of giving him the whole charge of the musket.
"I hope there ain't more than one of them, for if there happens to be," he said to himself, "I ain't likely to get a chance to reload before they come down on me. It was an infernal mean piece of business in that crowd to sneak off that way and leave me in the lurch just when I was likely to need their help."
While he was muttering in his endless fashion, he was still retreating as stealthily as possible, hoping to get far enough off from the dangerous spot to give himself a chance to make a run for some safe concealment. He had taken only a step or two, when he was hailed from somewhere in the gloom ahead.
"Stop, white man, or me take scalp!"
The settler paused at this fearful summons and his knees smote together.
"Wh-wh-what do yo-yo-you want?" he stammered, hardly conscious of what he was saying.
"Want your scalp, white man."
"Thunderation! I hain't got any! My wife pulled out all my hair the first week we were married. I'm bald-headed, so what's the—"
"Stop!" broke in the voice of the hidden Indian, who seemed to know that he was trying to steal away.