“The fight has begun!” Spotted Deer cried, excitedly.
For some time the Mohawks and their foes contented themselves with shouting defiance at one another. It was evident that the former felt quite secure behind their log stockade, and had no inclination to risk themselves in the open. It was not long, however, before the Delawares heard sounds which led them to believe that the Chippewas intended to force the fighting. They had apparently kindled fires on all side of the stockade in an effort to burn the village. The possibility was somewhat alarming to the helpless young captives in the deserted lodge. Once the stockade caught fire they knew that it would only be a question of moments before the dry bark lodge would be in flames. However, the noise from the camp indicated that the Mohawks were quick to realize the peril, and the Delawares had little doubt that they would rush out and attempt to extinguish the fires.
“Listen, the Mohawks are on the outside of the camp!” Running Fox cried, a few moments later.
The Delawares heard the fierce Mohawk war-cry ringing through the night on every side of the village, and they knew that a great fight was taking place on the other side of the stockade. The village was in wild disorder. The sounds of battle had alarmed the women and children, and roused the dogs, and all of them added their voices to the din. The camp was lighted by the lurid glare of the flames, while dense clouds of smoke rolled into the lodges. The Delawares feared that some of them had already been set on fire. Then somewhere on the opposite side of the village they heard sounds which set their hearts beating wildly.
“I believe the Chippewas have got into the camp!” declared Spotted Deer. “We will see if the great Standing Wolf can drive them out.”
However, in a few moments they heard the triumphant yells of the Mohawks, and they knew that the Chippewas had been forced out or overcome. The fight on the outside of the camp seemed to be raging in undiminished fury. Then there, too, the Mohawk war-cry echoed triumphantly through the night, and the Delawares believed that for the moment at least the Chippewas had been driven off.
“Well, the Mohawks have won a big battle,” said Spotted Deer, as the sounds of conflict gradually subsided.
“It is good,” declared Running Fox. “Perhaps it will help us. I believe the Chippewas have made a hole into the camp. Perhaps we will be able to crawl out.”
Soon afterward they heard the Mohawk war-party entering the village in triumph. They marched noisily about the camp shouting, and singing their war-songs. The Delawares wondered whether they had brought in any prisoners. Then the young Mohawk entered the lodge, and saw the predicament of his friends.
“Hi, my friends, my people have done what I told you about,” he cried, as he stooped and took the bandages from their eyes. “We have killed many Chippewas. All who escaped are running toward their lodges. Standing Wolf ran out and killed three Chippewas at one time. He is a great man. Perhaps this great victory will make his heart good toward you. Perhaps he will let you go. Now I will go, and talk with my father about it. Perhaps he will help you.”