“It’s of no use to go looking out for Indians, I suppose. We must chance their being near.”
“If we go looking for them, Master George, we shall have to spend all our time over it. I’m beginning to hope we shan’t see them any more.”
Then Morgan’s mouth became too full for him to talk with comfort, and I’m afraid mine was in a similar condition, for the long row, the fresh air, and the absence of breakfast before starting had had a great effect upon my appetite.
“I wish they’d come now,” I said, as I half turned to Morgan, who was leaning forward with his head thrown back in the act of drinking from a bottle, when I felt as if turned to ice—frozen—motionless—gazing up at a great muscular brown arm raised to strike; and I don’t know how to explain it, for the space of time must have been short as that taken up by the flashing of lightning; but all the same, the time seemed prolonged to me sufficiently for me to see that the owner of that arm was half concealed behind the tree; that the hand belonging to that arm held one of the keen little axes used by the Indians; that the blow was intended for my head; and I knew that before I could utter a word to alarm my companion, all would be over.
A good deal to think in that moment of time, but people do see and think a great deal instantaneously, just as they have quite long dreams in a few instants of time; and as I tell you, I thought all that as I saw the raised axe, and I could not stir, though it was in motion to strike me down.
A loud report set me free, the sound of a shot from the forest, and the Indian sprang forward between me and Morgan, turned half round, struck at the air with his tomahawk, then twisted back so that I had a full view of his hideous, distorted face, and then it was hidden from me, for the little axe escaped from his hand, and he fell clutching and tearing at the grass and leaves.
By this time Morgan and I had seized the fire-locks we had stood against the trunk of the tree, and stooped down to shelter ourselves with its trunk, as we presented the barrels at where we heard some one crashing through the bushes. But it was Han.
“Mass’ George not hurt?”
“No, no,” I said. “Did you fire?”
He nodded shortly, and gave me the piece to reload as he picked up the axe the Indian had let fall, and took the savage’s knife from his belt to stick it in his own.