“What!” Frank Lawrence looked at his friend in surprise. “Do you mean to say there is any chance of their giving up the attempt—of letting us escape?”
But Jack shook his head.
“No,” he said, gravely, “not quite that. But as there is no cover for the redskins on the sides of this knoll, no trees, no rocks, no stumps or anything like that, they might wait for a kind of cover that’s to be found anywhere.”
“What’s that?” asked Frank.
“Darkness.”
The young Virginian felt a cold, creeping shudder run down his back. His imagination pictured the darkness of night falling over this lone place; its stillness, its ominous, brooding depths. He seemed to feel the presence of the Creeks as they crept through the blackness, slowly and with the soft padded tread of panthers. No superiority of rifle fire, no vigilance, no courage would serve under such conditions; it would mean only one thing—massacre.
“If they wait for night and attack us in the dark,” asked Frank, “what can we do?”
“There is only one thing to do in such a case,” said the young borderer. “As soon as darkness settles we must get away from here as best we can. We must not wait for them to spring upon us; we’ll strike a blow at them, and be away in the darkness.”
“Ugh!” said Running Elk, with approval. But that he did not favor every aspect of the proposition was shown when he added, “Creep away like snakes—no noise—no shots. Heap best.”
“Right,” agreed Jack, with a nod. “If it can be done that way, it’ll be best. However, when the time comes, we shall see.”