CHAPTER XIV
A TARGET FOR ARROWS AND BULLETS
“Lie down, everybody!”
It was the voice of Mr. Armstrong that uttered these words; and hardly had the men who manned the sweeps and poles thrown themselves flat, than there came flashes of flame from the border of the trees, accompanied by the crash of firearms and the thud of striking bullets in the stout bulwark, behind which they had sought shelter.
Other missiles splashed in the water, falling short, or passing beyond the boat. Arrows also struck the cabin, to remain imbedded there as evidence of the muscular arms that sent them aboard.
But there was a way of working the sweeps from behind shelter; and so, by slow degrees, the imperilled pioneers were carried further and further from the shore.
No one fired back. In the first place, they saw but little of the Indians, who held the marksmanship of the borderers in too high respect to risk showing themselves needlessly. And then, besides, ammunition was too precious and costly a commodity to waste, unless the necessity seemed great.
Gradually the firing from the shore slackened, and finally died away altogether, as did also the cries of bitter rage and disappointment. Only for the warning of Blue Jacket the little company might have met with disaster thus early in their adventurous voyage. There were no longer heard murmurings because they had been compelled to make this hasty departure from so comfortable a resting-place. Indeed, every one was grateful to the young Shawanee, because of what he had done.
Blue Jacket wanted not their thanks. He had no love for the white men, who were coming to drive his race away from the lands where they had lived for many generations, carrying on their wars with neighboring tribes, hunting the buffalo and the deer, and worshipping the Great Manitou after the fashion of the red men.