“It would be of no use to try,” I whispered.
“Not a bit, lad, they’d run us down directly. Hold up your head, lad; you arn’t afraid of a rattlesnake, so you needn’t be afraid of these furreners. What are they—Injuns?”
“Yes,” I answered; “Red Indians,” though I had never seen one before.
“Ah, well, look you, there’s nothing to mind—they arn’t poisonous. I shall ask them what they want. I say, what are they all coming close up to us for?”
“I don’t know,” I said, as I made a strong effort not to be afraid, and to keep from thinking about the stories I had heard of the Indians’ cruelty, as the party came forward, evidently at a sign from the man who had faced me, and who wore more feathers than the rest.
“I say, Master George,” whispered Morgan again, “hadn’t I better ask ’em what they want?”
“It’s of no use. I don’t think they would understand.”
“Well,” said Morgan, coughing to clear his throat, “I’m a soldier, and I’ve been in a fight before now, so I know a little about it. We’re surprised, Master George, by the enemy, and without arms. First dooty is to retreat, and you being my officer, you says we can’t.”
“I’m sure we can’t,” I said, talking to Morgan, but looking sharply round at the Indians, who all stood gazing at us in the sternest and most immovable way.
“Quite right, lad. Madness to talk about running, but I’d give all the wage I’ve got to take dooring the next ten year, look you, to be able to let the master know.”