“I can shoot a gun, too,” exclaimed Joseph.
“Maybe you can,” admitted Mason. “At the same time you’re not going to try it just now.”
“Let me have just one shot,” he pleaded.
“What’s the use, Joe?” demanded Robert. “It will be dark in half an hour and the fight will be over. We don’t need you. The Indians are beaten. Why, we killed three ourselves and they won’t risk any more men.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” cautioned Mason. “It’s true that night is coming on and I don’t believe they’d try to attack us in the dark, but I have a feeling that they may make one last try before night really falls.”
The firing had slackened in the last few moments and there seemed to be a decided lull in the hostilities. This state of affairs was not of long duration, however, for suddenly the war whoop sounded again and the firing recommenced. John Mason was right. The Indians were making a last desperate attempt to overcome their foes.
“You stay here, Joe,” exclaimed Robert. “Here, sit behind this tree and we will come after you if anything happens.”
“I don’t worry about that,” said Joseph. “Please don’t let anything happen, though.”
“Not if we can help it,” exclaimed Mason. “Come on, Bob,” he urged. “They need us out there in front I guess.”
Walt and Deerfoot already had taken their places on the firing line again and Robert and Mason soon joined them. The Indians were closer now and were evidently striving desperately to strike a telling blow at the white men.