“Ef they’ll fire a few more shots,” said Kenton, “I’ll be bound to go through safe.”
“They won’t do it,” whispered Boone, in answer.
Hardly had he spoken, when, as if to give the lie to his words, the flash of a rifle came from the black woods toward the fort, not a hundred yards off.
It was immediately answered by a line of flashes some distance further on, and the crackling reports of the rifles were followed by the spiteful plug, plug, plug, of several bullets slapping into the ground and tree-trunks round them, in very unpleasant proximity.
“That feller war some young brave on his fust war-path, cunnel,” whispered Kenton, delightedly, “Ef I don’t flax him, call me a skunk.”
“Now we know where the fort is, thanks to him,” was the answer. “There must be a big crowd, Simon, when they let the youngsters stand picket.”
“I’m goin’ to fotch that feller’s skulp, by the holy poker,” muttered Kenton. “Ef so be he’s alone thar, we kin creep through the gap.”
“Be careful, Simon,” replied Boone, cautiously. “Remember we’re not alone, and the lady can’t run like we can.”
“All right, cunnel,” said the borderer; and as he spoke he glided away on his belly like a snake toward the point from whence the flash had proceeded.