“Shall I have time to load them?”
“Plenty o’ time. They ain’t a-gwine to come in ’ithout a light. Thur gone for a torch to the shanty. Quick wi’ yur! Slap in the fodder!”
Without waiting to reply, I caught hold of my flask, and loaded the remaining five chambers of the revolver. I had scarcely finished when one of the Indians appeared in front with a flaming brand, and was about stooping into the mouth of the cavern.
“Now’s yur time,” cried Rube. “Fetch the niggur out o’ his boots! Fetch him!”
I fired, and the savage, dropping the torch, fell dead upon the top of it!
An angry yell from without followed the report, and the Indians disappeared from the front. Shortly after, an arm was seen reaching in, and the dead body was drawn back out of the entrance.
“What will they do next, think you?” I inquired of my companion.
“I can’t tell adzactly yit; but thur sick o’ that game, I reckin. Load that ber’l agin. I guess we’ll git a lot o’ ’m afore we gins in. Cuss the luck! that gun, Tar-guts! Ef I only had that leetle piece hyur! ’Ee’ve got six shots, have ’ee? Good! ’Ee mout chock up the cave wi’ their karkidges afore they kin reach us. It ur a great weepun, an’ no mistakes. I seed the cap use it. Lor’! how he made it tell on them niggers i’ the shanty! Thur ain’t many o’ them about, I reckin. Load sure, young fellur! Thur’s plenty o’ time. They knows what you’ve got thur.”
During all this dialogue none of the Indians made their appearance, but we could hear them on both sides of the shaft without. We knew they were deliberating on what plan they would take to get at us.
As Rube suggested, they seemed to be aware that the shot had come from a revolver. Doubtless some of the survivors of the late fight had informed them of the fearful havoc that had been made among them with our pistols, and they dreaded to face them. What other plan would they adopt? Starve us out?