"They are unhossing theirselves," said Kit. "Don't move, boy!"
"Matt is shot!" I exclaimed. "I must go to him."
"Don't go, boy. You can't help him any now, and you mought git shot if you show yourself. Don't do it, boy."
"Is Matt dead?" I asked, trembling with emotion.
"Dead as a hammer," replied Kit. "He'll never move hisself again. Hold still, boy."
"He may be alive, and I want to do something for him," I insisted.
"He hain't moved since he dropped, and I know by the way he went over that it's all up with Matt. Don't throw your life away, boy."
"Poor Matt," sighed Mr. Mellowtone, from his position near us. "It is a sad day for him, and for us."
"Keep your eyes wide open, or some o' the rest on us will smell the ground," added Kit. "The redskins is gittin' down into the brook."
The savages retreated to a point on the stream, where they dismounted, evidently with the intention of crossing. They picketed their horses, and we judged that they meant to complete the work which they had begun.