He glanced into Lightfoot's face. The answer to his unspoken question was plainly written upon the Kickapoo's face. He too saw the peril and was eager to baffle it, though more from hatred to the tribe of Pottawatomies, than love for the hardly-bested white hunters.
The distance was too great for Lightfoot to use his bow with effect, and it was necessary for the success of their plans that the savages should be terrified as well as surprised. Fifty yards below was a dense clump of bushes, and toward this Lightfoot glided, trusting that, even if observed, his features would not be recognized. Boone remained upon the hill. His rifle easily commanded the enemy's position.
Reaching the cover, Lightfoot quickly fitted an arrow to the bow, and loosing it at the back of an exposed Pottawatomie, sent forth his shrill, fear-inspiring war-cry. Almost simultaneously the rifle of the Wood King spoke, and his full, deep voice sent encouragement to the hearts of the settlers.
Amazed, bewildered by this sudden and deadly attack in their rear, the Pottawatomies leaped to their feet, glaring wildly around. Crack—crack—crack! Then hastily reloaded rifles from among the settlers were discharged—like a shaft of light another arrow sped from Lightfoot's covert, rankling deep in the very heart of a battle-scarred warrior.
With a loud cheer Boone broke cover, dashing down the hill. The settlers answer him—so does Lightfoot. The Pottawatomies believe themselves surrounded and outnumbered. With cries of dismay they turn and flee, leaving their dead and dying behind them.
They are not pursued far. The settlers have learned a lesson in prudence that they will not soon forget. One of their number is dead, another at his last gasp, while scarcely one of the others but bears some token of the struggle. Yet the savages had suffered far more severely, since, in all, nine dead bodies marked the accuracy of the pale-faces' aim.
Boone drew aside with Abel Dare, who seemed far more like his usual self, though still fitful and wild in both actions and speech. In a few words Boone heard all he had to tell. No trail had been found or any adventure met with until they stood face to face with the Pottawatomies, when, without stopping to calculate the chances, the settlers began the fight.
At this moment Jim Fosdick advanced, evidently as spokesman of the party. He said they had accomplished what they set out to do—dealt a blow at the enemy and secured more than scalp for scalp. That their duty now was to help protect the settlements.
Abel Dare began a testy reply, but Boone checked him.
"They're right, lad, though you mayn't think so just now. Every man's arms is needed thar, for thar the varmints will strike the heaviest licks. It's right—don't say any thing ag'in' thar goin'."