Chapter Twelve.
Attacked by Indians.
My pang of agony was accompanied by a feeling of rage against the cause of it, and in blind fury I fired both barrels of my gun in the direction of the Indians, almost at the same moment as my uncle and the carpenter discharged theirs.
The reports were followed by another yell, the crashing of bushes and ferns, and the sound as of men tearing away.
“Take care, Cross,” cried my uncle. “Load again, and keep under cover. Hah! there goes one of the treacherous hounds. Gone, and I’m not loaded. Now I am. Not hurt, are you, Nat?”
“I’m afraid I am,” I said, drawing in my breath with pain.
“Here, let’s look,” cried my uncle. “Keep under cover, Pete. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt. You, Cross, look out, and fire at the first sign. Now, Nat, what is it? Tut, tut, tut! There, keep a good heart, my lad. It has gone clean through your shoulder.”
“Poisoned, uncle?” I cried anxiously.
“Pooh! Nonsense, boy! Hold still. It will not be a long operation.”
I saw him take out his keen knife.