It was the top-knot and crown of an Indian, with several gaudy feathers projecting slightly beyond the wall of rock, the appearance suggesting that he was gathering himself for a spring.
This was the belief of the patriot, and, confident that at such a short distance he could not miss, he was about to fire, when there came a flash of suspicion that a sharp, but by no means original, trick was being tried on him.
The action was not precisely that of a real Indian while trying to peer around a dangerous point, and most probably was intended to draw the fire of the sentinel.
As soon as the bullet should leave the ready rifle, the waiting warrior would either leap or run the few intervening feet, and reach the vantage-ground before the other two rifles in the company could be aimed and fired.
"Why don't you shoot?" whispered Habakkuk, "you've got him dead sure."
"That isn't an Indian," was the response, "but there will be one in sight pretty soon. All of you keep well back out of the way, where there is no danger of being hit, and leave this fellow to me."
The situation of the settler was trying. Lying flat on his face, with his gun cocked and pointed toward a certain spot, he watched with such intensity that in the fading light his sight threatened to fail him. Odd, flickering figures danced before him, and sometimes rock, wood, and sky were so jumbled together, that he had to glance in another direction, until he could recover his visual strength.
The wily Seneca, having failed to draw his shot, was now likely to attempt some other stratagem.
Furthermore, the massacre of Wyoming was still going on, and this formidable body had not the patience to shut themselves out from their share in it.
In one sense it was tying themselves up to remain for hours, besieging a little company of fugitives, and, therefore, they were likely to display less indifference to the passage of time than is the rule with their race.