“Drive the white dogs over!” meaning across the river.
The Botetourt men were well posted and considerably in advance of the right column, as they had given but little ground while the right was retiring after Lewis was shot. At no time did either column fight at a range of more than twenty yards, and when I crawled among Fleming’s men the range was not more than six yards, while here and there in the deeper growth were hand-to-hand struggles.
“A big chunk of a fight!” screamed a shrill voice, and Cousin was beside me, wearing a brilliant scarlet jacket. As he was crawling by me I caught him by the heel and dragged him back.
“You fool! Take that coat off!” I yelled. For the vivid splotch of color made him a tempting target for every Indian gun. And the Shawnees were skilful marksmen even if less rapid than the whites because of their inability to clean their fouled weapons.
Cousin drew up his leg to kick free, then smiled sweetly and said:
“It’s my big day, Morris. Don’t go for to meddle with my medicine. Everything’s all right at last. I’ve found the long trace that leads to my little sister. She’s waitin’ to put her hand in mine, as she used to do on Keeney’s Knob.”
With that he suddenly jerked his leg free and sprang to his feet and streaked toward the savages, his blood-curdling panther-screech penetrating the heavier vibrations of the battle.
He was lost to view in the brush and I had my work to do. I kept along the edge of the timber, and answered many anxious queries as to the fate of the right column. I reassured them, but did not deem it wise to tell of Colonel Lewis’ wound. I found the column quite close to the river and by the stubborn resistance it was meeting I knew the Indians were strongly posted.
“Why don’t you whistle now?” they kept howling in concert, and referring to our fifes which were still.
“We’ll kill you all, and then go and speak to your big chief (Dunmore),” was one of their promises.