But the warriors steadily grew bolder. They seemed to be animated by the certainty of triumph. Often through the day and night they uttered taunting shouts, and now and then, in the day time, they would appear at the edge of the woods and make derisive gestures. Daniel Poe grew gloomy, and sadly shook his head.
"Help must come soon," he said, "or our people will not have spirit to beat back the savages the next time they try to rush the camp."
"It will come, it will surely come!" said Henry confidently.
The worst night of all arrived. More of the women and children fell sick, and they did not have the energy to build up bright fires. It was to Ross and Shif'less Sol that this task fell; but, though they kept the fires high, they accomplished little else. Paul lay down about midnight and slept several hours, but it was a troubled night. The savages did not rest. They were continually flitting about among the trees at the foot of the hill, and firing at the sentinels. Little flashes of flame burst out here and there in the undergrowth, and the crackle of the Indian rifles vexed continually.
Paul rose at the first coming of the dawn, pale, unrested, and anxious. He walked to the earthwork, and saw Henry there, watching as always, seemingly tireless. The sun was just shooting above the hills, and Paul knew that a brilliant day was at hand.
"At any rate, Henry," Paul said, "I prefer the day to the night while we are here."
Henry did not reply. A sudden light had leaped into his eye, and he was bent slightly forward, in the attitude of one who listens intently.
"What is it, Henry?" asked Paul.
Henry lifted his hand for silence. His attitude did not change. Every nerve was strained, but the light remained in his eye.
"Paul," he cried, "don't you hear them? Rifle shots, far away and very faint, but they are coming toward us! Long Jim is here, and Wareville with him!"