“Can you fight?”
“I’ll try.”
“All right then, boy; the others are ready, and I think the Indians are asleep. We must make a dash for it now, before they make up their minds to put us out of our misery, for I am afraid it’s that they mean.”
“What do we do first?” whispered Cyril, who felt the power rapidly coming back into his legs.
“Wait till the colonel joins us with Master Perry. They’re coming as soon as they feel it safe, and then we dash back for the falls, and retreat up the gorge. When we jump up, keep together and run. Hit out, lad, at anybody who tries to stop you. They’re only cowards after all, but the colonel’s coming. Now get up softly. Ready?”
“Yes.”
At that moment there was a fierce yell, and Cyril was dashed back upon the ground, three Indians flinging themselves upon him; there was a dull blow, a groan, and John Manning cried aloud:
“They’ve done for me, lad; run for it, if you can get free. Tell the colonel I did my duty to the last.”
Almost at the same moment Cyril, as he fiercely struggled, heard a shrill cry of agony from Perry, a shout from the colonel, and the reports of half-a-dozen guns fired in rapid succession.
Then all was blank, for a heavy blow on the side of the head made the lad insensible to what was passing around.