“Do you know what tribe these Indians belong to?” asked Gardiner.
“They’re Smohollers, I reckon,” replied Glyndon.
“Did you see him with them?”
“That’s more than I can say, for I don’t know him. So I might have seen him without knowing it. There was a chief at the head of ’em, and he acted differently from Injun chiefs in general, for he charged right down upon us, without stopping to count the cost, and that was what flaxed us—for they just drew our fire, and were upon us without giving us a chance to reload; and there was too many of ’em for a hand-to-hand fight. I managed to get out of it, but I had to leave the boys. There was no help for it.”
The old hunter uttered these words in an exculpatory manner, as if he thought himself responsible, in a measure, for the misfortune that had befallen them.
“This attack looks as if the Indians were determined to prevent us from proceeding in our survey,” remarked Robbins.
“That ain’t the worst of it,” rejoined Glyndon. “They ain’t a-going to allow us to stop here long. So just look out for a brush. I hope you have been fixing things here, leftenant,” he continued, turning to Gardiner.
“Come and see,” replied the lieutenant, who wished to have the old hunter’s opinion on the measures he had taken for the protection of the camp.
A semicircular breastwork, composed of felled trees and the loose large stones lying about, had been constructed, running from the river around the grove and back to the river again, completely guarding all approach to the camp, except by the river, which was considered to be protection enough in itself.
Sentinels were posted at different points, and the utmost vigilance observed. The quick discovery of Glyndon’s approach was a proof of this; for the river was watched as well as the ravine.