CHAPTER VII.
ON THE LINE.
The two Indians sat down side by side, and proceeded to hold a short conversation in low tones, the scout seeing every motion. The outline of one of them was that of an old chief, for Kenton could distinguish the eagle-feathers, only worn by chiefs.
This warrior seemed to be gravely lecturing his heedless companion on his folly in firing, and the young one seemed to be excusing himself, although Kenton did not fully understand their words.
The conversation did not last long, for the old chief finally stole away to the left along the line, as if on a tour of inspection, and, covered by his rustling, for he moved carelessly, the borderer crept forward.
It was evident that the old chief, astute as he was, did not suspect that his enemies were anywhere in the immediate vicinity, or he would not have made so much noise.
He was simply going “grand rounds,” to keep his sentries on the alert for a possible contingency.
Simon Kenton, leaving his rifle at about four feet from his enemy, drew his knife, and prepared to spring on the young Indian, who sat looking at the fort, with his back to the Kentuckian.
Just at that moment the blood rushed to the ranger’s heart with a terrible throb, for he felt a hand laid on his extended foot!
Most men, at such a time, would have started.