“Well,” said the lad with as much unconcern as he could assume, “you have me, Long Panther.”
The coppery face of the Shawnee turned toward the white boy; and the light of the fire was not more deep than the light in his eyes. But beyond this he showed nothing but the stoical front of his race.
“Yes,” said he, “we have you. And I do not think another will mount and ride for help to-night.”
“I hope not, if he’s not to have better fortune than I’ve had,” said Oliver.
“In two suns we could take the cabin of the white man,” said Long Panther, his burning eyes turning in the direction of the Curley cabin. “But the time is short. At dawn we must take the trail. The Mingo chief, Logan, calls, and we go to him that we may strike a harder blow.”
Oliver felt a thrill of gladness at the news that the siege upon the log house was to be lifted, and that the Shawnees were about to abandon their purpose.
“If I had only known that,” was his thought, “I might have stayed comfortably inside and learned in the morning that all danger was past.”
But, as the venture he had made had seemed the best thing to do under the circumstances, he did not waste any regrets upon it; instead, he gave up his thoughts entirely to the situation in which he found himself, and began studying out a plan of escape.
“Many things,” said Long Panther, somberly, “I have suffered at the hands of the white man. And I have desired vengeance. This,” and he held up his bandaged left hand, “is the last.”
That Long Panther had been the marksman behind the tree butt now, for the first time, occurred to Oliver; the bullet from Eph’s rifle had found a shining mark, indeed.