CHAPTER XX
PRISONERS OF THE BLACKFEET
Flight was out of the question, for the boys could hardly hope to excel those fleet-footed Indian braves, however successful Mayhew might have proved.
Indeed, there was little time given to any of them to think of escape. When the wily French trader had conveyed his suspicions to some of the Blackfoot braves there was a concerted dash toward the clump of bushes.
Some of the Indians started to circle around, evidently in the expectation that, if the whites were concealed, they would attempt flight, and the idea of these runners was to forestall any such dash.
“We must hold them back or all is lost!” exclaimed Mayhew, who, being an experienced Indian fighter, doubtless knew the weak and strong points of the red men, no matter to what tribe they belonged.
The report of his long-barreled rifle followed his words almost instantly. There could be no question but that his bullet found its billet, for Mayhew was a crack shot.
Roger strained his eyes to discover the form of Lascelles among those rushing straight toward the bushes, but he looked in vain. The shrewd Frenchman must have suspected that he would be a shining mark for the concealed riflemen, and hence he had discreetly taken shelter behind a convenient tree trunk, from whence he could observe all that went on, and be ready to appear after the battle was over. Failing to see Lascelles, Roger took hasty aim at the nearest Indian and fired, but apparently missed.
Dick had not thought about trying for the trader; indeed, it might have been the most foolish thing Roger could have done, since the Indians, if successful, would probably dispatch the boys without hesitation, unless there was a restraining hand put out to prevent it.
The tricky warriors came leaping and dodging to the attack, so that it was not the easiest thing in the world to hit such an eccentric target. When Dick fired he felt sure he had not missed, and yet his intended victim failed to fall, though he did act as though wounded.
The guns being now empty the boys drew their pistols. These of course were of the same construction, being furnished with flint locks. It required considerable knack to be able to discharge such a weapon. The powder had to be shaken afresh into the pan, or there would be no explosion after the flint and steel had come violently in contact. Then, unless the connection were assured through the minute hole, it would result only in a flash in the pan, instead of the weapon doing its full duty.