Even then they could not realize that they had been saved; that death—horrible death—and worse than death—had in some miraculous way been averted from them.
They expected momentarily that the savages would return. Joshua Peniman and the boys reloaded their muskets. Mr. Peniman snatching the axe from the wagon laid it beside him. Joe slipped a long sharp knife inside his belt.
Strangely enough none of them spoke. The moment was too tense, the struggle for life too imminent for words.
Moments passed. The shrill yelps and cries grew fainter and fainter and finally died away.
An intense, silent half hour went by. Then Joshua Peniman lowered his gun to the ground and looked about him.
"I believe they have gone!" he whispered.
"I believe so too!" replied Joe in the same tone.
"Keep on guard. I'll look around."
Cautiously and with musket ready he made a tour around the wagons.
Two Indians, both dead, lay in the grass not far away, but there was no sign of any living creature about the place but themselves.