“Good. You act squar’. You ain’t no traitor to the white man, same as Nevil Steyne’s traitor to the Indian, which I guess Black Fox likely knows by this time.”
“Yes. Black Fox know.”
CHAPTER XXX
THE LAST STAND
Sunrise brought the alarm. The call to arms came in the midst of breakfast. But it came to men who were discussing possibilities with smiling faces, and to women who were no longer held silent by the dread of the last few days. For all had shared in Seth’s news. And if ever words were graven on the hearts of human beings, Seth’s announcement, “Troops are comin’ from the north,” would most certainly have been found inscribed on the hearts of the defenders of White River Farm.
The attack began as the sun cleared the horizon, and continued all day. Like the first few raindrops of a storm-shower the enemy’s bullets hissed through the air or spattered upon the buildings. Their long-range firing did little harm, for Indians are notoriously bad marksmen.
The sun mounted; the hours crept by. The attack was general, and each minute diminished the enveloping circle. The Indians had learned many lessons during the past six days, and not the least of them the utter folly of recklessness. Now they crawled upon their bellies through the grass, offering the smallest possible target to the keen-eyed garrison. But even so their death-roll was enormous. 328 The plainsmen held them at their mercy, and it was only their vast numbers that gave them headway. Death had no terrors for them. As each man drooped his head upon the earth another was there to take his place; and so the advance was maintained.
Noon drew near; the ever-narrowing circle was close upon the farm.