At last their mule became a little restive, putting them on the alert, and shortly afterwards an arrow whizzed past Joe’s ear. He instantly presented his carbine in the direction whence it came, and fired. The shot was answered by a perfect shower of arrows, which pierced the clothes of some of the white men, and slightly wounded Douglas in the left arm, but fortunately did no further damage. The discharge was followed by a quick movement in the bushes, rendered audible by the crushing of dried leaves and breaking of branches. This guided the whites in their aim, and a volley was poured into the bush, followed by several random shots from revolvers.
Soon after all noise was hushed, and a brief examination of the surrounding bushes was made, but it could not be ascertained that any damage had been done to the Indians, who always make it a point, when possible, to carry off their dead to prevent their being scalped—a dishonour they fear almost as much as death.
“Now, one half of us may sleep,” said Rance, when the party was again collected round the fire.
“Sleep!” exclaimed Frank.
“Ay, there’s nothing more to fear from the rascals to-night, if we keep a good look-out—and that may be done as effectively by three of us as by six. If we each get a wink of an hour or two, we shall be quite fit to travel or to fight in the morning. So let me advise you to lose no time about it.—Not badly hurt, sir, I hope?” he added, addressing Douglas.
“Nothing to speak of,” answered the Scot, “only a graze of the skin.”
“Well, get away to rest. You can take the second watch, and it is not likely they will disturb you before morning. If they do, you won’t require to be called, so keep your weapons handy.”
As Rance prophesied, so it turned out. The Indians had got an unexpectedly severe repulse, and did not attempt to interfere with the travellers during the night, but in the morning they were found to have posted themselves on the opposite banks of the stream, evidently with the intention of disputing the further progress of the party.
Nothing now but prompt determination could save them from being cut off by overwhelming numbers, for if they were to hesitate, or waver in the least, the Indians would be encouraged to make an attack. They therefore calmly and deliberately blew up the fire, boiled their kettle and had breakfast, after which the mule was loaded, and the party prepared to cross the stream.
Before doing so, however, Rance and Jeffson, being the best marksmen, advanced to the edge of the bank with two of the largest rifles and took aim at the Indians, hoping by that means to frighten them away without being obliged to shed more blood. In this they failed, for, the distance being fully five hundred yards, the natives evidently believed that it was impossible for a ball to tell at such a distance. On seeing Rance point his rifle at them they set up a yell of derision. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to fire. This Rance did, and one of the Indians fell. Jeffson also fired and hit the chief, who reeled, but did not fall. The savages immediately began a hurried retreat, and the travellers refrained from firing, in order to convince them that all they desired was to be allowed to go on their way unmolested.