There again the bowstrings twanged, and shafts whistled fiercely into naked bodies, but there was no checking this assault. Through the grove swept the Stone Men, scarcely checked by the Dacotah arrows. Crawford gained the breastwork, defending the last bit of ground around the crooked tree, and was joined there by Standing Bull and four warriors. The others were gone.
No orders were needed. The Dacotah caught up fresh arrows, Frontin and Black Kettle lay with matches alight. As the grove vomited forth the oncoming Stone Men, the four last charges of powder roared out one by one, arrows flew as fast as fingers could work the strings. Smitten by this blast of death, dismayed to find a fresh barricade facing them, the Assiniboines paused, wavered, broke back abruptly to cover. The storm abruptly ceased, the bellow of Maclish quelling the arrow-flight. The sun was just sinking from sight behind the western trees.
“Habet!” With a wild laugh, Frontin pointed to Standing Bull. The old chief quietly fell forward, with the point of an arrow emerging from his back, and was dead. “Seven of us left in all, cap’n. Hurt?”
“No.”
“Then I am. Come and cut out this shaft.”
Startled, Crawford sprang to Frontin’s side and saw that his friend was pierced through, below the right shoulder. With his knife, he slashed at the crimsoned arrowhead; Frontin gripped the feathered shaft and drew it out. At this instant the voice of Maclish roared up from among the trees of the sacred grove.
“Ahoy, Crawford! Art there yet?”
“Aye, Maclish,” returned Crawford. “Come out and settle it with me, you devil!”
“Not I.” Maclish laughed jeeringly. “We’re going to burn two of your men to-night. With sunrise we’ll finish it. Tell the Star Woman that I’ll take her in the morning!”
Silence fell. Frontin grinned and put the message into French for the redskins, while Crawford tied up his wound.