I grasped the situation at once and, fearing that others of the choppers would mistake us for enemies, dashed on past Pitamakan, shouting, "Don't shoot! It is we! Don't shoot!" I cleared the high brush just as the roused men were gathering in a circle about Louis, who was still wildly shrieking for help.
"Now, what is all this about?" cried my uncle as he came running up to the group.
"I am shot! Me, I die!" Louis cried.
"He thought us enemies. He fired at Pitamakan and got shot himself," I explained.
"Let us see the wound," my uncle demanded.
"No use! I die!"
"Throw him down, men, throw him down! We'll see how badly he is hurt!" my uncle ordered; and down he went.
"Huh! Just as I thought! Nothing but a bullet scratch! Get up, you crazy scamp! Get up! Go to the river and wash yourself, and then come back to work!" said my uncle disgustedly.
"Where is his rifle?" some one asked.
"Dropped right where he fired it," I hazarded; and there it was found.