Cousin said they had been conducted to the main trace before being slaughtered. As I leaped from my horse a fringe of savages broke from cover and began shooting. Cousin dropped the foremost of them. I led the horse inside the cabin and my companion closed and barred the door.
The interior of the place mutely related the tragic story. It is the homely background of a crime that accents the terrible. On the table was the breakfast of the family, scarcely touched. They had been surprised when just about to eat. An overturned stool told how one of the men had leaped to bar the door at the first alarm. I spied through a peephole but could see nothing of our foes. A low cry from Cousin alarmed me. He was overcome at the sight of a small apron.
“I wish I’d stuck to the open,” he whispered. “The air o’ this place chokes me.”
“If we can stand them off till night we can send the horse galloping toward the woods to draw their fire. Then we can run for it.”
“There won’t be no darkness to-night,” morosely replied Cousin. “They’ll make big fires. They’ll try to burn us out. We’re well forted till they git the roof blazin’ ag’in. We’ll ’low to stick here s’long we can. They won’t dare to hang round too long.”
He took a big kettle from the fireplace and thrust it through the hole in the roof. Bullets whistled overhead, with an occasional whang as a piece of lead hit the kettle and ricochetted. After the first volley the Indians refused to waste their ammunition, either realizing it was useless, or suspecting the kettle was some kind of a trick.
“I ’lowed they’d git tired,” muttered Cousin, sticking the top of his head into the kettle and lifting the edge a crack so he could scrutinize the forest. After a minute of silence his muffed voice called down to me: “Had a notion that cow we passed nearest the woods was dead. Try a shot that’ll just graze the rump.”
I fired and a Shawnee began rolling toward the bushes. The iron kettle rattled to the ground, and young Cousin, with head and shoulders thrust through the roof, discharged both barrels of his rifle. The Indian stopped rolling. I was amazed that Black Hoof’s men had not instantly fired a volley. I exclaimed as much as he dropped to the floor.
“Here she comes!” he cried as the lead began plunging into the thick logs. “If they keep it up we can dig quite a lot o’ lead out the timbers. It took ’em by surprise to see me comin’ through the roof, an’ it surprised ’em more to see two shoots comin’ out of a gun that hadn’t been reloaded. Mighty few double barrels out here. Huh! I ’low somethin’ cur’ous is goin’ to happen.”
I could discern nothing to warrant this prophecy. No Indians were to be seen. Cousin called my attention to the sound of their tomahawks. I had heard it before he spoke, but I had been so intent in using my eyes that I had forgotten to interpret what my ears were trying to tell me. There was nothing to do but wait.