Chapter Twenty.
Dangerous Neighbours.
Chris’s heart beat fast, and as he glanced at Ned he could see that there was a peculiar look in his eyes and strain in his countenance which suggested discomfort, if not fear.
But all this was momentary. There was something else to think about beside how his companion looked, especially his father’s words, for the doctor suddenly whispered—
“Keep close everybody, and have your rifles ready when they come on. Mind, no one is to fire till I give the order, and then all together. Give them the right-hand barrels, loaded with shot, a scattering volley right into the midst. That ought to scare them and make them turn about and gallop off.”
“And if they don’t?” said Wilton, in a hoarse whisper.
“Give them the bullets then, and let every one be carefully aimed, for we shall be fighting for our lives.”
“They can’t have seen us,” thought Chris then, for though the Indians were drawing nearer and nearer, they did not seem to be searching the long grass as if they feared danger, but came on in a line, each man, as could be plainly-seen now, with his rein lying loosely upon his horse’s neck, his hands being occupied in holding a short bow with an arrow fitted to the string ready for drawing to the head and launching.
“Why, they can’t see us,” thought Chris again, for as the low-down sun struck nearly horizontally it lit up the enemies’ eyes in a peculiar way, showing their transparency, and at the same time it seemed to the boy that as they came on in line at a walk they were looking in advance of where his party were waiting.