He evidently did not care to trust himself within range of Shackelford’s rifle, nor was Red Eagle loth to leave the spot where they had first halted.
From his dormitory Shackelford could note the movements of his foes. He saw them lounging about carelessly, or overhauling their ammunition-pouches, and cleaning their weapons. He knew that they were preparing for the darkness, that his island home would then be invested, and stormed by the treacherous two hundred.
“I half expected that the hounds would wait till night,” he said, addressing the boy adventurer, who was engaged in cleaning the chambers of a revolver. “Tom Kyle is not going to attempt to reach the island so long as I can cover his heart; but if they get to this grove to-night, they’ll hear the biggest noise they ever heard.”
The youth looked up, inquiringly.
A minute later the trapper rose and unbarred the door. Opening it boldly, he stepped out, and, in full view of the savages, walked to a giant cottonwood which stood perhaps fifty feet from the cabin.
His movements, which, to say the least, were mysterious, caused the Indians to suspend operations, and watch him.
He walked around the cottonwood several times, not appearing to notice the Indians, then suddenly hastened to the cabin again.
He smiled as he barricaded the door, and George Long could not restrain his curiosity.
“What do such movements mean?” he asked.
“You’ll see to-night if they come to the island.”