"Get behind the trees!" I called to my companions, as I promptly adopted the tactics of Kit Cruncher; for in fighting Indians discretion is eminently the better part of valor.
"Was any one hit?" asked Morgan, the man nearest to me, as he dodged behind a cotton-wood tree.
"I am not," I replied.
"Nor I," added Plunkett, the other soldier; "but that ball came within a quarter of an inch of my right ear."
"Who fired that shot?" asked Morgan. "I didn't see anybody."
"The Indians are here," I replied.
"Then we had better take ourselves off as quick as possible," suggested Plunkett.
"Not without the gun," I continued. "The three Indians you fired at on the river last night have come over here. You don't mean to run away from three Indians—do you?"
"No; but I don't like the situation," said Plunkett.
The cotton-wood trees were large enough to furnish us ample shelter, and we waited a reasonable time, with our guns pointed, for the savages to show themselves; but they were no more disposed to do so than we were. It looked like a slow and lazy fight, and I was afraid the main body of the redskins would attack the lieutenant before we could reach him with the gun.