Nearer and nearer they approached to the tree behind which Deerfoot had disappeared. Thus far they had been untouched but it seemed almost a miracle. Every moment the rain of bullets about them increased and to their watching comrades it seemed as if they must be hit. Yells of defiance and rage greeted their appearance and apparently every one of the hostile party was now directing his fire at the two daring youths.
Half the distance had been covered by this time. Only a few seconds had elapsed but to the two brothers it seemed as if a long time had passed since they had left their shelter and started on their perilous adventure. No thought of retreat had entered either boy’s mind, however, and even if they had had such a desire it was too late now to turn back.
Just ahead of them was a large fallen oak and toward this they made their way. Robert’s sleeve was cut by a bullet and both boys had felt many of the leaden balls whiz by close to their ears. Still they kept on and soon came to the prostrate tree. Vines and creepers covered the trunk, providing an excellent screen, and behind this shelter the young volunteers stopped for a momentary breathing spell and a chance to get their bearings.
“Whew, Bob, this is ticklish business!” panted Joseph, and he and his brother instantly sank to the ground.
“I know it, Joe,” replied Robert. “That doesn’t make any difference, though. It has to be done.”
“Of course it has,” cried Joseph. “We are wasting valuable time here, too!” He once more sprang to his feet and after a hasty look about him started on his way again. Robert followed close behind. “Only a few yards more,” he called encouragingly. “We’ll make it all right, Joe.”
Just at this moment when the two young pioneers appeared around the end of their shelter, they were once more exposed to full view. A yell greeted them, followed by a hail of lead. Bullets sang all about them and suddenly Joseph uttered a groan and plunged forward. He fell headlong to the ground and rolled over upon his back.
Robert was at his side in an instant. “Where are you hit, Joe? Is it bad?” he cried. Joseph’s red-headed and impulsive younger brother apparently entirely forgot that he, too, was exposed to the fire of all the Indian party. Not so, Joseph, however. Even at this time his first thought was for his brother, and he begged him to return.
“Go back, Bob,” he pleaded. “You can’t help me any now.”
“Tell me where you’re hit,” demanded Robert.