“Whew! We reached here just in time, I should say,” exclaimed Joseph, wiping his brow.
“Yes, but wasn’t that fun?” said Robert excitedly. “It certainly was great sport racing those fellows.”
“Now that it’s over, it was all right,” agreed Joseph. “I’d hate to have to do that every day though.”
“Let’s lend a hand here,” exclaimed Robert eagerly. “There are a couple of portholes over there we can take care of. Look at Deerfoot; he is already as busy as he can be.”
The inside of the fort presented a curious scene. At every porthole was a man with a rifle. As fast as they could load they fired out at the horde of yelling savages, who in turn were showering bullets on the walls of the stockade. Powder was plentiful, but the defenders were short of bullets. Fortunately a supply of lead had been received from Galena only an hour before, however, and the women were now busied in molding bullets. As fast as they could they melted the lead and molded it into rifle balls. The men were gallant in their defense, but so also were the women. They worked like beavers and had it not been for their splendid efforts the fort must surely have fallen.
The Indians were on all sides. Every bit of cover seemed to hide one of the red men. A steady fire was kept up against the fort, but, thanks to the thickness and strength of its walls, the bullets could not penetrate. At the same time the heroic efforts of its defenders kept the Indians from attacking too recklessly.
An officer named Captain Stone was in command of the fort. He went from one to another of the men, urging them to still greater efforts and encouraging everyone by his air of quiet confidence and courage. Joseph ran short of bullets and had gone for more. As he was receiving a fresh supply, Captain Stone approached the spot where he was standing.
“That was a narrow escape you had, young man,” he remarked.
“Yes, sir,” replied Joseph, touching his cap. “We have had so many lately, though, that we are sort of becoming used to them.”
“What is your name?” inquired Captain Stone.