I did so, and through a loophole knocked over a savage who had paused in the open to brandish a war-ax thickly decorated with either feathers or scalps.
“Good! We’ll make a fine fight of it!” grimly said Cousin as he stepped from a loophole at the back of the cabin. “It’s too late for us to make the ridge now. It’s crawlin’ with the vermin.”
His bearing was exceedingly cheerful as he posted himself at the front of the cabin, his double-barrel rifle ready for a snap-shot. He fired the two barrels almost together, and laughed boisterously.
“Two tryin’ to hide behind one small tree,” he explained. “Got one dead an’ sp’iled t’other.”
As yet not a shot had been fired from the other two cabins. A voice called from the Granville cabin. I found a chink in the wall and beheld the face of the Englishman peering from the small end window.
“Who’s there?” he kept demanding in a shrill voice.
“Two white scouts. Get to shooting!”
He could not see me but he heard me, and vanished to help in the defense. Cousin had reloaded and was watching the valley closely. Bullets were plunking into the log walls, but I knew none of the savages were exposing themselves, else my companion would be shooting. From the Granville cabin several shots were fired without any effect so far as we could make out. Then again the Englishman was calling us. I went forward.
“Hear what I say?” he cried.
I answered that we could.