Habakkuk McEwen, in his flurry, had rammed down the bullet first, and the weapon was useless until the ball was extracted.
Where the elder had shown such vigilance, it was singular that he had forgotten to take a very simple precaution—he should have had the African or New Englander covering the same point, and arranged that one should fire with him.
The intervening space was so brief there was no excuse for missing, and such a catastrophe could have been averted.
But though Mr. Brainerd's piece failed him, the second Indian emitted the same shriek, and went sprawling to the bottom, shot directly through the body.
"What the mischief have you done with my gun?" demanded Mr. Brainerd, flinging the weapon behind him; "let me have the one in your hand; there's something wrong with mine; draw out the charge and fix it."
"My gracious!" exclaimed the astounded Gimp, "what does dat mean?"
"What does what mean?"
"Why did dat Injin turn back summersets, and whoop it up in dat style, when your gun flashed in de pan?"
"Somebody shot him."
"But who was he?"