"Watch me, lad—then foller. Ketch the vine as it comes back."
Then springing from the ground, he shot swiftly through the air, across the dark ravine, safely making the further side, whence he hurled back the novel rope. The yells of the Osages came more clear—their heavy tramp smote his ear, and Dare did not hesitate for a moment. Clutching the vine, he too was safely landed on the other side, where Boone was hurriedly driving home a well-battered bullet.
"What shall we do with this?" muttered Dare, still holding the vine.
"Let it go. 'Tain't long enough to tie, an' we cain't break it off. We kin keep 'em from crossin' with our rifles. Take to kiver, an' load up—for life!" hastily replied the Wood King, kneeling down in the shade cast by a huge bowlder, adroitly priming his rifle as he spoke.
With loud cries, the Osages rushed forward, but then paused, their tones altering greatly. Where were their anticipated victims? the swaying grape-vine answered, and so did the rifle of the old hunter.
Sharply, with a spiteful cadence, rung out its voice, the bright flame leaping half-way across the ravine, dazzling the eyes of the Osages; the eyes of all but one—and he sunk down in death, the blood gushing from a perforated skull. For a moment the savages stood amazed; then turned and sought cover. But before the friendly bowlders were gained, though so near at hand, the rifle of the young settler was discharged, and a second savage fell at full length, sorely wounded. A single cry of agony, then he silently dragged his maimed body over the rocky ground, seeking to gain cover.
"Now's our chance," said Abel, as he poured the wonderful black grains into his rifle. "We can get to a safe distance before they think of crossing."
"Easy, lad," and Boone laughed silently. "Thar's plenty of time afore us. The varmints won't ventur' to cross over as long's they think two sech rifles as our'n is ready to dispute their passage, so we may as well get a little more breath while we kin. There—hear them yelp!" he added, as two or three subdued cries came from the opposite side. "The fools—do they think to blind the eyes of one who has known them a lifetime? Poor fools—they're sadly out."
"What do you mean?" quickly asked Abel Dare.
"This: they're yellin' there to make us think they're very busy hatchin' some plan to git at us, and so keep us still a-watchin' to drive 'em back when they try to cross. Now, though layin' bets is not my natur', I'd stake my scalp ag'inst that of any red heathen among 'em, that the biggest part of the lot has gone round the ravine so's to take us unbeknown in the rear," quietly replied the veteran woodsman.