"We might shout, and warn him," said Penn, whose nature still shrank from using any more deadly means of saving his friends.
"And so discover ourselves! That never'll do. Have you sighted your man?"
"Yes—the one lying on his belly behind that cedar."
"Very well! I'll take the fellow next him. The moment you have fired, keep perfectly still, only draw your gun back and load. Now—fire!"
Just then Stackridge and his men, in full view of their hidden friends on the ledge, were appearing to the fifteen ambushed rebels also. Suddenly the loud bang of a musket, followed instantly by the sharp crack of a rifle, echoed down the mountain side. The rebel behind the cedar sprang to his feet, dropping his gun, and throwing up his hands, and rushed back down the ridge, screaming, "I'm hit! I'm hit!" while the man next him also attempted to rise, but fell again, Pomp having discreetly aimed at an exposed leg.
"I'm glad we've only wounded them!" whispered Penn, very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes gleaming.
"It has the effect!" said Pomp. "Your friends have discovered the ambush, thanks to that coward's uproar; and now the rascals are panic-struck! Fire again as they go into the ravine—powder alone will do now—a little noise will send them tumbling!"
They accordingly fired blank discharges; at the same time Stackridge and his friends, recovering from their momentary astonishment, charged after the retreating rebels, who had barely time to carry off their wounded and escape into the ravine, when their pursuers scaled the ridge.
"I'm off!" said Pomp, creeping back through the savins. "These men are not my friends, though they are yours. I'll go and look after Cudjo." And bounding down into a hollow, he was quickly out of sight.