An ominous stillness filled the air. In large force the Indians swarmed around the blockhouse. They kept under cover as far as possible, however, and seemed to be planning the best method of attack. All at once the sharp crack of a rifle broke the silence and proved that someone of the white men had located the enemy. Straightway the firing became general.
“Let ’em have it, Joe!” exclaimed Robert hotly. “We’ve got Walt to pay them back for now, too.”
“I’ll let ’em have it all right,” replied Joseph grimly. He carefully sighted his rifle and fired. An Indian some two hundred yards away who had been so careless as to expose his head for an instant, suddenly let his gun drop limply from his hands and sank to the ground.
“I got one,” said Joseph casually.
“Good for you!” cried Robert exultantly. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“Me get one, too,” remarked Deerfoot. He was busily engaged in loading his gun for another shot at his ancient enemies.
“I hope we all get one,” exclaimed Robert. “At least I hope we all get at least one.” He bent to his task again and no further conversation was held for some time.
The little garrison kept up a hot fire. No Indians dared venture too close to the fort and after about an hour had elapsed they turned their attention to the horses. Robert, whose porthole commanded a view of the spot where the animals were huddled, was the first to observe this move.
“They’re shooting at the horses,” he exclaimed suddenly.
“What!” cried Joseph in alarm.