“They’re shooting at the horses,” repeated Robert. “I suppose they are beginning to find out that they can’t hurt us here in the fort.”
“But The Swallow!” protested Joseph. “Suppose they kill him. Can you see him from there?”
“Yes,” said Robert, peering out cautiously. “He’s almost in the center of the bunch and my horse is right next to him. I can see John Mason’s horse, too, but I don’t see Deerfoot’s anywhere.”
“Let me look,” begged Joseph. The thought of harm coming to The Swallow cast a sudden gloom over the young volunteer. He almost forgot his own danger in the thought that he might lose his wonderful pony. He was prouder of The Swallow than of anything else in his possession and the thought of being deprived of his prize was almost more than he could bear.
“He is right in the middle there,” he observed after a hasty glance. As he looked, however, a bullet struck a tall sorrel horse stationed on the edge of the group and with a scream of pain the animal reared and plunged. The rest of the animals tugged at their bonds and wild with fear made every effort to break loose. Joseph was beside himself with anxiety.
“They won’t hit him,” observed Robert reassuringly. “There are a hundred horses in that bunch and The Swallow is about the best protected one of all. He was the first to arrive so that all the others are grouped around him and help to keep him covered.”
“If they shoot him I’ll kill every Indian Black Hawk has!” exclaimed Joseph fiercely. “That would be the last straw.”
“Kill ’em all anyway,” urged Robert. “That’s our business just now and at present we’re not attending to it.”
As Joseph turned away to resume his post another bullet struck in the midst of the group of horses. The animal collapsed almost instantly and once more all the others were thrown into confusion. It was a horrible sight to see the poor dumb brutes, almost crazy with fright, and yet unable to do one thing to help themselves. They kicked and reared and plunged and many of them were hurt. The Indians were quick to observe the damage they were inflicting and soon much of their fire was concentrated on the horses. Already ten animals had been shot.
“Quite a large number of Indians have been killed I think,” remarked John Mason to Joseph when he resumed his place at his porthole.