The fight at the village, if such it could be called, was over almost as soon as it began. The trappers, whose only desire was to release Dick Lewis, passed rapidly through the camp, looking in vain for the object of their search, and then turned and retreated toward the fort, thus extinguishing the last spark of hope which their appearance had raised in the breast of the prisoner. Scarcely had their shouts died away in the distance, when a chorus of yells arose in another direction; and the retreating Indians, one and all, faced about, and hurried back to the camp. Those yells produced a great change in them, for their terror gave away instantly to the wildest delight, which they expressed in all possible ways. The Black Fox, who still held fast to the horse on which Archie was mounted, shouted until he was too hoarse to speak plainly, and then triumphantly announced:
"More Indian coming. Burn fort now, sure."
When Archie arrived within sight of the camp, his heart stood still, and he trembled for the safety of his friends at the trading-post. A cloud of braves in war-costume—five hundred of them at least—was moving through the burning village in the direction the trappers had gone—the horses running at the top of their speed, and their riders swinging their weapons around their heads, and yelling like madmen. These were the reinforcements the chief had been expecting; and now that they had arrived, Archie knew that the attack on the fort would not be long delayed. It was commenced that very hour; and when it was over, some one brought him tidings of the result.
When the reinforcements had passed out of sight, the Indians who had fled before the trappers ran into the village, and busied themselves in pulling down the wigwams to stay the progress of the flames. This was a matter in which the Black Fox was not interested. He had no property to save, but he had a prisoner to watch, and to this duty he gave his whole attention. Stopping in the edge of the woods, he tied the mustang to a tree, and seizing Archie by the shoulders, pulled him rather roughly to the ground; after which he spread his blanket on the leaves, and settled into a comfortable position to observe what was going on in the village. He was very talkative, and entertained his captive with a glowing description of the manner in which the Indians would overcome the garrison, and the way they would dispose of their prisoners; but finding that Archie was in no humor to listen to him, he finally relapsed into silence.
At the end of two hours—two long, dreary hours they were, during which Archie was a prey to the most gloomy thoughts—he was aroused from a reverie into which he had fallen, by the movements of the Black Fox, who jumped to his feet, and gazed earnestly toward a group of warriors who had just emerged from the ravine. Archie thought they acted very strangely. Some of them walked with feeble, tottering steps, as if they scarcely possessed the strength to retain an upright position, while others reeled about like drunken men. He looked toward the young Indian for an explanation.
"Much hurt," said the latter; then, fearing that his prisoner might not understand him, he struck himself on various parts of his body with his hand, raised his bow to his shoulder as if it had been a gun, and imitated the motions a person would make in using a saber. From this Archie knew that the warriors had been wounded, and that they had received their injuries during the battle at the fort. This was enough to put him into a fever of suspense. He wanted to know if the Indians had been successful, and he wished some of the braves would tell him; but they did not seem disposed to do any thing of the kind. They did not even notice their friends, but threw themselves upon the ground, and wrapping their blankets around their heads, suffered in silence.
"Which side whipped?" asked Archie, at length.
"Indian," replied the Black Fox.
"How do you know?"
"O, Indian always whip white man."