"I don't see any hope o' sneakin' through the line," observed Kenton. "It's not goin' to be dark tonight."
"Wa-a-l," Oncle Jazon drawled nonchalantly while he took in a quid of tobacco, "I've been into tighter squeezes 'an this, many a time, an' I got out, too."
"Likely enough," said Kenton, still reflecting while his eyes roamed around the circle of savages.
"I fit the skunks in Ferginny 'fore you's thought of, Si Kenton, an' down in Car'lina in them hills. If ye think I'm a goin' to be scalped where they ain't no scalp, 'ithout tryin' a few dodges, yer a dad dasteder fool an' I used to think ye was, an' that's makin' a big compliment to ye."
"Well, we don't have to argy this question, Oncle Jazon; they're a gittin' ready to run in upon us, and we've got to fight. I say, Beverley, are ye ready for fast shootin'? Have ye got a plenty of bullets?"
"Yes, Roussillon gave me a hundred. Do you think—"
He was interrupted by a yell that leaped from savage mouth to mouth all round the circle, and then the charge began.
"Steady, now," growled Kenton, "let's not be in a hurry. Wait till they come nigh enough to hit 'em before we shoot."
The time was short; for the Indians came on at almost race-horse speed.
Oncle Jazon fired first, the long, keen crack of his small-bore rifle splitting the air with a suggestion of vicious energy, and a lithe young warrior, who was outstripping all his fellows, leaped high and fell paralyzed.