But by now the guns of the whites began to answer back, and the Indians, who were coming headlong through the brush, evidently meaning to follow them aboard, met with such a hot reception that they were glad to drop flat, and creep behind trees or rocks.
“Cut the cable free!” shouted Mr. Armstrong. “Keep the women under shelter, and let every gun be ready to repel boarders, if they come on again!”
He himself boldly seized one of the push poles, and threw his whole weight upon it, the instant the cable had been released that held the upper end of the boat to a tree.
Arrows hurtled around him in a cloud, and it seemed as though he must surely be struck down at any second; but Mr. Armstrong appeared to bear a charmed life, for he did not receive even a trivial wound.
The boat was already moving with the sluggish current close to the shore. It was fortunate that all these things had been prepared for at the time they tied up there. In the time of necessity a second might mean safety or disaster to those hardy souls who had entrusted their all to a slender chance.
Seeing that their expected quarry was leaving them in the lurch, the Indians increased their fire; and then some of the more rash among them rushed into full view, as though meaning to board the craft.
But they counted without their host. Those frontiersmen knew how to defend their craft desperately. They never pulled trigger without lessening the number of their assailants. Bob and Sandy were on the firing line, and had no sooner discharged their muskets than they set to work with feverish haste to get another load rammed home again.
Several of the Indians managed to dash through the water up to the waist, and started to make their way aboard; but clubbed guns smote those feathered heads with such unerring skill that not a single bronzed warrior ever set foot on deck.
Now the boat was leaving the shore, influenced by the sweep, which two of the voyagers managed to work fairly well. The danger seemed over, and lusty shouts broke from the lips of the defenders of the craft as they noted that the scene of the late battle was being left far behind, with the baffled Indians giving short, sharp yelps, like wolves that have been cheated out of their prey.
“Well done!” exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, breathing freely for the first time since he had heard Bob tell how the warning arrow had fallen close at his side. “And now, Neighbor Bancroft, let us look at that wound you’ve received. I can pull the arrow through easier than break or withdraw it. A painful but not a dangerous wound; you must let my wife bathe it, and put on some of her magic salve.”