"Yes, sir, but we must have 'em. We can't break through the palisades without 'em."
"Why, young sir, these red warriors can annihilate anything to be found in Kentucky!"
"They did not do it, sir, when we attacked Wareville last year."
"Lack of leadership! Lack of leadership!"
"If you'll pardon me, sir, I don't think it was. The Indians have to fight in their own way, and the Kentucky riflemen are the best in the world. Why, sir, the things they can do with their rifles are amazing. A musket is like an old-fashioned arquebus compared with their long-barreled weapons. I know one of them—and I must say it, though I hate him—who could kill running deer at two hundred yards, as fast as you could hand him the rifles, never missing a shot."
"A William Tell of the woods, so to speak!" said the heavy, gruff voice, sounding an incredulous note.
"You'll believe me, sir, if you meet 'em," said Wyatt earnestly. "I don't love 'em any more'n you do, much less perhaps, but I've learned enough to dread their rifles. I was telling you about the one who is such a terrible marksman, though the others are nearly as good. Last night before the rain one of the Wyandots found the trace of a footstep in the forest. It was a trace, nothing more, and not even an Indian could follow it, but I've an idea that it's the very sharpshooter I was telling you about."
"And what of it? Why should we care anything for a stray backwoodsman."
"He's very dangerous, very dangerous, sir, I repeat, and he's sure to have four others with him."
"And who are the dreadful five?" There was a note of irony in the voice.