As he did so, Boone touched his foot once more, and he looked back. Both the borderer and Ruby Roland were close behind him crouching to the earth, and Boone silently pointed to the fort, as if to urge a sudden dash forward.
Kenton beckoned them forward, and whispered:
“Run! both of ye. I’ll cover the rear and sculp this hyar varmint.”
Boone nodded softly, and took Ruby by the hand.
From where they were, they could distinctly see the sharp outlines of the pointed palisades that surrounded the fort, for as Kenton had guessed, the line had been drawn in very close during the darkness.
The only question that remained was whether there were a second line of Indians close in or not.
If not, they were almost out of danger. If there were, there was much yet to be done.
Daniel Boone and Ruby Roland crept toward the fort, not without some little noise, but crouching low and making the best speed they could.
The moment they started Kenton knew they were heard. He heard a quick rustle of dry grass and dead leaves, a heavy rushing through the brushwood, and a score of dark forms leaped up and dashed toward the fort, yelling furiously. He heard Boone utter the Shawnee war-whoop, to confuse his enemies, and saw him and Ruby go flying among the stumps that surrounded the fort, just as a ring of spitting red flashes lighted up the woods, followed by a rattling volley of rifles. Covered by the racket, and himself unobserved, the reckless borderer passed his knife round the head of the slain sentry and scalped him without more ado.
Then he picked up the slain man’s rifle, and rushed forward into the melee, whooping louder than any of them, and so far unrecognized in the thick darkness.