Captain Stone hurried on and Joseph resumed his place at the porthole once more. Every gun was needed, as the men in the fort numbered only about twenty-five, while the Indians from all appearances had at least four times that number. Several of the red men had been either killed or wounded, for every few moments one of them could be seen being carried off the field of battle. So far no one inside the fort had even been wounded and the fight had been going on for at least a half-hour.
This happy state of affairs did not last long, however, for hardly had Joseph returned to his post when a bullet penetrated the porthole next to the one Robert defended. The man stationed there had just raised his head to take aim when the bullet struck him. He fell back, and even before the two boys could spring to his assistance, he died.
Almost at the same moment a man on the opposite side of the fort was shot. He too had been peering out of the porthole, but fortunately the ball just grazed his head, inflicting only a slight scalp wound. These occurrences only served to increase the ardor of the defenders, however. Every man returned to his task with renewed energy and the fire from the fort continued even more furiously than before.
“Black Hawk out there,” said Deerfoot quietly to Joseph a few moments later.
“What!” exclaimed Joseph. “Black Hawk himself?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” demanded Joseph. “Did you see him yourself?”
“Me see him sure.”
“Show him to me.”
“No see him now,” said Deerfoot.