Paul was less vocal, but like the others he shared in the triumph of the shiftless one.
"I'll admit I was worried for a while," he said, "but Sol has given us one more proof that he can take care of himself any time and anywhere."
"And he has also proved to our besiegers," said Henry, "that every hour they spend there they're in peril of a bullet from the bush. I think it will give them a most disturbing feeling."
Henry was right, and he was also right in some of his earlier surmises. Red Eagle and Blackstaffe departed to join the main army, leaving Braxton Wyatt in command of the besieging band which had been reinforced by a half-dozen warriors. Wyatt, animated by wicked passion, was resolved not to leave until he could kill or take those in the little fortress, but he was upset by the certainty that one of the terrible five was outside. He had believed from the first that it was Henry Ware, and, when their best warrior came in shot through the arm, he was sure of it.
The warriors shared his state of mind. Their losses had inflamed them tremendously and all of them were willing to stay and risk everything for eventual triumph. Yet a terror soon fell upon them. The single marksman who roamed the woods sent a bullet singing directly through the camp, and the search for him failed as before. An hour later another who went down to the brook for water was shot through the shoulder. Wyatt saw that in spite of their desire for revenge superstitious fears were developing, and in order to prevent their spread he organized a camp, surrounded by sentinels whom nothing could escape. Then he awaited the night.
Henry and his comrades had heard the second shot and they had seen the man whose shoulder had been pierced by the bullet, run toward the others leaving a red trail behind him, but they were not alarmed this time, as nobody left the camp. Evidently the warriors, stout-hearted though they were, did not care to trail the shiftless one once more, and in the growing dusk, too, when they would be at the mercy of his rifle.
"He's got 'em stirred up a lot," said Henry, "and if they come again he will surely be a host on our side."
Another attack was made that night, but it did not come until late, halfway between midnight and morning, and, as Henry had suspected, it was not an assault, but an attempt by sharpshooters, hidden in the dark brush, to pick off watchers at the opening. The bullets of the besiegers were fired mostly at random and did nothing but chip stone. The besieged fired at the flash of the rifles and were not sure that they hit an enemy, but believed that they succeeded more than once. Then, as the night before, came the report of the lone rifle in the thicket, and a warrior, throwing up his hands, uttered his death cry, making it apparent to the defenders that the shiftless one was neither idle nor afraid.
Then the Indians withdrew and the primeval silence returned to the valley. The four remained for a while without speaking, watchful, their rifles loaded anew and their fingers on the trigger.
"Sol could come in now," said Long Jim. "He must know that the way will be clear for a little while."