Then a rifle-shot rung out from the gloom beyond the broad circle of light. The bullet sunk with a dull thud into the decayed log, some feet from the fugitives.
Another and another rung forth, from different points of the compass, but still not a cry or a sound came to tell the Indians of the exact spot occupied by their intended victims. One of the bullets tore its way through the cheek of Tobe Castor, but he did not flinch or move, save to brush the hot blood from his eyes.
Then a series of cries ran along the cordon of dusky warriors. Its meaning was comprehended by the old scout, who muttered:
"It's comin' in airnest, now, boys! Pick yer game an' drap it. Then load up, ef you hev time."
The words still hissed upon his lips, when a wild whoop resounded from every side of their position; and then a number of dusky figures appeared in view. But they did not advance boldly; instead, they sprung from side to side, yelling frightfully and brandishing their weapons in the air above their heads.
Castor was too wise a veteran to be fooled in the manner they evidently counted upon. His hands checked the less experienced men, whose eyes were already glancing along their rifle-barrels.
"Don't shoot—fer yer lives don't shoot yit!" he hissed, warningly. "They on'y want to find out whar we be. Don't ye see? Wait ontil they make a gineral rush."
His prudence was soon confirmed, for like magic the yelling crowd and the dim, phantom-like figures disappeared as though they had sunk into the ground. Evidently the red-skins were puzzled, knowing now that either their prey had fled, or else were far more cunning then they had given them credit for.
Thus another half-hour expired, and still no direct assault was made, although an occasional shot was discharged into the bush-screened log. An overruling Providence seemed to shield the fugitives, for as yet, the crease upon Tobe Castor's cheek was the only wound the party had received, though more than once the hissing missiles had passed so close that their venomous whistle could be distinguished by the besieged.
Then Tobe gave a faint hiss. His comrades gazed in the direction his finger pointed, and they beheld a faint, shadowy figure upon the ground, at only a few yards' distance. Under other circumstances this would hardly have been noticed, or if so, would have been thought a mere shadow; but now, with his senses sharpened by peril, Castor knew that it was the form of an Indian, who was crawling up toward them, evidently with the intention of learning their exact position; a sort of forlorn hope, in which he risked his life to benefit his comrades and work the ruin of his foes.