“Deerfoot no let go,” replied the Indian calmly.
The air now was resounding with the cries of the bloodthirsty redmen. If the wild shouts provided a just basis by which to estimate the numbers in the attacking party then it must be as large as Deerfoot had declared it to be, the boys concluded. In their hearts both boys were already convinced that whatever they might do would be of no avail. At the same time it is not easy to watch an attack upon one’s family, and both boys would rather have lost their own lives than to sit quietly by without making an effort to aid.
Every time the war whoop sounded a shudder ran through them and they begged Deerfoot for a chance to try to protect or avenge their father, mother and sisters. Both boys knew well that when an Indian makes war he spares no one from the head of the family down to the baby in the cradle. They already were convinced that soon they would be the only survivors in what had but recently been a family of six.
Suddenly Robert wrenched himself free from Deerfoot’s hold and sprang to his feet. Night was rapidly coming on and objects at a distance were hard to distinguish. Through the gathering dusk he could see his home in the distance. It had been set on fire and around and around it the red marauders were dancing, sending forth their fiendish shouts of victory. Undoubtedly everyone in the house was now dead and soon only the charred remains of what had once been their home would remain.
An ungovernable feeling of rage surged up in Robert’s breast and he vowed vengeance. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim. Never in his life had he been more self-controlled in his actions than he was at that moment. The roof of the cabin suddenly burst into flame and lighted up the awful scene being enacted nearby. As he pulled the trigger one of the Indians suddenly leaped high into the air and fell headlong upon his face and lay still. Robert’s aim had been true.
As if by magic the war dance of Black Hawk’s band abruptly ceased. Comrades rushed to the side of the fallen brave and tried to lift him to his feet. Their efforts, however, were without avail; the warrior was dead. As soon as the others became aware of the fall of their comrade they immediately turned to see from which direction the fatal shot had come.
As often happens at sundown there was no breeze stirring. Rising among the trees over the spot where Robert and his two companions were standing, appeared the smoke from the young frontiersman’s gun. The sharp-eyed Sac Indians immediately spied this and with a shout of rage a score or more of them started at full speed in the direction of the tell-tale smoke.
When Robert had fired his rifle, Deerfoot realized that their position was now disclosed and he instantly released his hold on Joseph. There was no advantage to be gained by any further attempt to hide. Joseph gained his feet just as the hostile Indians spied the smoke from his brother’s gun, and hastily taking aim he fired at the approaching warriors. The fact that one of them stopped suddenly and clutched his shoulder proved that Joseph as well as Robert was skillful in the use of a rifle.
“Fools!” exclaimed Deerfoot in the ears of the two boys.
“But, Deerfoot—” began Robert, at the same time hastening to reload his gun.