Promptly Jack passed the word to his fellow scouts. They dismounted and went forward, flitting from tree to tree as they went, firing sharply and making a great pretense of eagerness to push forward. Instantly the arrows of the Creeks rained about them; an occasional bullet clipped the twigs over their heads.
“They are great fellows to waste their ammunition,” said Jack, from behind a huge cottonwood.
THE ARROWS OF THE CREEKS RAINED ABOUT THEM
Frank Lawrence drew a bead upon a particularly active foeman and fired.
“Yes,” said he. “And seeing that it’s so hard to get in their case, you’d think they’d be more careful.”
Here the war-whoops grew shriller and the fire thicker.
“Fall back slowly,” ordered Jack.
The scouts did as directed. Eagerly, triumphantly, the redskins followed; faster and faster the little band under Jack retreated; like a bronze tide the Creeks pursued. This was exactly as Jackson had figured. Coffee’s cavalry was soon in their rear, awaiting the word.
When the party of scouts reached the main body, Jackson signaled for volley firing. Feeling the real weight of the force confronting them for the first time, the Indians retreated. To their consternation they found themselves surrounded; like their brothers at Tallushatchee they were in the center of an iron ring. Bitterly they fought, like rats in a trap, all the time beating at the ring in an effort to break through.