His rifle was cocked and leveled, but as though suspecting some such message, the white Indian took good care not to expose his precious person. Creeping behind a sand ridge, he gained the woods in safety.
As the savages reached the forest, they uttered a loud yell, which was echoed back from the western shore. Boone started and frowned. This showed him the impossibility of carrying out the plan that was even then shaping itself in his mind. The cave could not be left now. They must wait until the friendly shadow of night settled over the earth.
But few words passed between the two scouts. Yet Boone was given ample cause for anxiety, aside from his personal danger. Lightfoot believed that an attack was to be made simultaneously upon all the white settlements in the Osage Country. That very night might witness the carnival of blood.
The hours rolled on, the sun steadily sunk in the west, until hidden behind the tree-dotted hills, and the shadows darkened the surface of the gently flowing river. Within the cave-mouth crouched the two scouts, scarce breathing a word, their weapons ready for instant use, their every sense fully upon the alert. Yet no sound from without told of the proximity of foemen. All was silent save for the hum of insects, the chirping of birds, the splash of some fish as it sportively leaped into the air, or now and then the shrill, piercing scream of the great hawk that slowly circled above the scene.
But then, like magic, all was changed.
The water swept boldly around the upper edge of the cave entrance—the side where Lightfoot was stationed. The Indian suddenly uttered a sharp hiss, bending his strong bow.
The water no longer flowed smoothly. Numerous bubbles dotted the surface. The depths were discolored by sand and mud.
A dark object parted the surface, darting rapidly into the mouth of the cave. The long hair, the draggled plumes, the dusky face were those of an Osage.
The bow of the Kickapoo, bent nearly double, relaxed, the feathered shaft sunk deep into the low brow of the savage. A stifled shriek—then the body sunk below the surface, dyeing the water red with the tide of life.
Like magic the space before the cave appeared filled with heads, as the maddened Osages swam rapidly forward, clutching their knives, their tomahawks, thirsting for the blood of their daring enemies.