Suddenly another war whoop sounded not thirty feet from the spot where Joseph was standing. At the sound he started violently and his gun almost fell from his shaking fingers. He turned in alarm to see whence the noise came, and to his intense relief discovered that Deerfoot was the cause of his fright. The Pottowattomie had flung his defiance back at his foes to show them that not all of his tribe were on the side of Black Hawk.
So interested was Joseph in watching his red ally that he nearly forgot that he was in a fight and that at least fifteen or twenty bloodthirsty Sacs were intent on taking his life.
At the conclusion of this war cry Deerfoot immediately dropped to the ground and began to worm his way forward on his belly as fast as he could crawl. With fascinated gaze, Joseph watched the half-naked redman whose skin glistened with war paint as he cautiously, but steadily crawled onward across the swamp.
From behind a tree scarcely fifty yards distant one of the enemy had been firing. Evidently this brave was the goal Deerfoot had in mind. Joseph soon realized this and resolved to do all in his power to aid. As fast as he could load his gun he emptied it at the hidden Indian and did his best to keep his attention occupied so that Deerfoot might approach unnoticed. Deerfoot must have realized this, though, of course, he made no sign. Rifle in hand he still was crawling through the swamp. The grass was high, affording him excellent protection and he took great pains to keep every possible bush or stump or tree between him and the object of his quest.
Every little while Joseph lost sight of Deerfoot. It was difficult to follow the Pottowattomie’s course as he went along, and so skillfully did Deerfoot perform his task that only the occasional waving of a clump of bushes gave evidence that anyone was disturbing them. “That’s a wonderful performance,” thought Joseph, and he was right.
At length Joseph withdrew his gaze from Deerfoot’s movements and looked around at the rest of his comrades. No one seemed to have been hit as yet, though Joseph could only account for eight of the ten members of the party. Robert was as cheerful as ever and presented a smiling though powder-smeared countenance to his brother’s gaze.
“Why don’t we charge them, Joe?” he called.
“That would be a foolhardy thing to do,” replied Joseph. “What chance would we stand?”
“Some of us would survive,” said Robert. “I wish they’d try it, anyway.”
Joseph made no reply beyond a shake of the head and once more he turned his attention to Deerfoot. He was, however, now unable to locate the Pottowattomie. Having once taken his eyes from the path he was pursuing Joseph could not find it again. That Deerfoot must have approached close to his goal now, he felt confident, but still no sign of him appeared. The young pioneer riveted his gaze upon the tree that sheltered his enemy, hoping for an opportunity for a favorable shot. He thought he saw a feather move behind the broad trunk, and immediately he fired.