The Beaver’s rifle rang out again, and he started up into a kneeling position, gazing after the object at which he had fired, while his fingers mechanically reloaded his piece. Then he uttered a low guttural cry of anger, and sank down into his former position.
“Missed him, Beaver,” said Joses, quietly.
“No,” was the sharp retort. “He was hit, but he will escape to his dogs of people.”
This was a tremendous speech for the chief, who, however, seemed to be acquiring the English tongue with remarkable rapidity, the fact being that he had long known a great deal of English, but had been too proud to make use of it till he could speak sufficiently well to make himself understood with ease, and therefore he had brought up the interpreter as a medium between him and his English friends.
They watched through the rest of the night, after communicating to the Doctor the reason for the firing, but there was no fresh alarm. The moon rose higher, and shed a clear effulgence that seemed to make the plain as light as day, while the shadow of the mountain appeared to become black, and the ravines and cracks in its sides to be so many dense marks cut in solid silver.
Daylight at last, with the silvery moon growing pale and the stars fading out. First a heavy grey, then a silvery light, then soft, roseate tints, followed by orange flecks far up in the east, and then one glorious, golden blaze to herald the sun, as the great orb slowly seemed to roll up over the edge of the plain, and bring with it life, and light, and hope.
“Hurrah!” shouted Bart, as he rose from his cramped position in the rifle-pit. “Oh, Joses! my back! my legs! Ah, ah! Oh my! Do rub me! I’m so stiff I can hardly move.”
“That’ll soon go off, my lad. There, I suppose most of us may go off duty now, for I can’t see any Injun out on the plains.”
“Yes: hundreds!” said the Beaver, who had been shading his eyes and gazing attentively over the sunlit expanse of rocky landscape dotted with trees.