“On, Kit, on!” I shouted.
The mare heard and started at a sharp gallop.
Lucille clung to her seat, and waved her hand back at me.
Though Simon and I had made good speed the Indians were now within range. They shot a flight of arrows, and several, who had muskets, discharged them. They did not hit either of us, and Lucille was now out of danger. Not so, however, Simon and I. On came the savages, running with great speed, and uttering their war cries.
There were three fleeter of foot than the others, and they were in the lead. I saw if we were to gain the block house we must dispose of these or halt them for a time[a time]. Bidding Simon halt we drew up short in the road. I told him to fire at the one on the left with his pistol, while I took the one on the right with the flint lock.
Two quick shots rang out in the darkness. Simon only wounded his man, but I had better luck, and the ball went through his body, so that he fell doubled up in a heap, and then was still.
The enraged yells of his companions told us he was dead. The whole party stopped short and that gave us the chance we wanted. At top speed we resumed the race to the fort. Lucille was almost there now, and we could see the gate cautiously opened to let her in.
“Quick, Simon,” I called, for the Indians were after us again, and we could not hope with but a single charge in a pistol to halt them.
Poor Simon was almost done for with the run. His breath came in gasps. I caught him by the arm, and was helping him along. The nearest Indian was not a rod away. With head down, panting from the exertion and almost ready to give up I half led, half dragged Simon on.
Then, and it was a welcome sight, the heavy log gate of the block house swung open. A score of armed men in close formation emerged. I could see the matches of some of the muskets burning. The Indians saw them, too. With a final yell of rage and defiance they abandoned the chase, turned back, and were soon lost to sight in the darkness, which had now fallen.