“It should have been easy to finish them then,” remarked Robert.
“Don’t you think so!” exclaimed Mason warmly. “Their guns may have been no good to them, but they still had knives and they tried to close in on us with those. They fought desperately, but many of them were shot down. One big, burly brave came plunging directly at me. He had his gun to his shoulder and when only a few yards distant he pulled the trigger. The powder was wet, however, and it did not go off. I raised my rifle, but my powder was also damp and so nothing happened when I tried to fire, either. Meanwhile, knife in hand, the savage came toward me. My case was desperate, but I still had my revolver and when he was but a few scant feet away I drew it and shot him down.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Joseph, “That was pretty close, wasn’t it?”
“Too close to be comfortable,” said Mason grimly. “I can tell you I was frightened there for a couple of seconds.”
“You had good reason to be,” agreed Robert. “But tell me,” he continued, “how did the fight finally end?”
“As far as I know every one of the Indians was killed. Of course I can’t be sure of that, but I don’t think a single one escaped. Our men fought like demons that day.”
“That’s the way to fight!” exclaimed Robert. “At least that’s the way to do when you’re fighting demons.”
“All Indians aren’t demons,” laughed Mason. “Just look at Deerfoot here.”
“No, he isn’t one, I know,” agreed Robert. “You can fight like one just the same, can’t you, Deerfoot?”
“Ugh,” grunted the Pottowattomie, much embarrassed by the attention being paid him.