His face was covered with blood, and it was difficult to tell the position of his wound. That the exploding shell had injured him was patent to all, and the savages did not pause to see whether the wound was a mortal one.
“Iron balls hurt when they burst,” said Jack, turning from the spectacle of the bloody face, and several minutes later the cave was tenantless so far as animation was concerned.
Two of the wounded Indians had been put beyond misery by Mouseh’s tomahawk, which in this case did a humane service, while the third died without the aid of that weapon.
Near the mouth of the corridor lay the giant form of Lava-Bed Kit, the revolver still clenched in his right hand, and his face, pale as death, turned toward the fire, which burned fiercer than before.
Captain Jack led his band into the passage toward which he had lately sprung, with ’Reesa South in his arms, and the journey underground to the new stronghold began.
Below the surface of the Lava-Beds, as I have said, a perfect honeycomb of dark passages exists. Therefore the savage can retreat from one stronghold to another—miles distant—without once showing his face above the earth. Against such disadvantages our troops were compelled to fight the Indians, and the considering reader has long since ceased to wonder at the prolongation of the war.
Through some of these caves rapid streams make their way, and emerge into daylight, eventually to greet the ocean that laves the Pacific slope.
The underground retreat was made in silence. The sullen roar of the mortars never left the red-skins’ ears, and ever and anon the explosion of the iron missiles sounded dangerously near.
“Here we fight to the death!” said the Modoc chief, in a determined tone, suddenly pausing, and waving the torch above his head. “The blue-coats shall never drive Mouseh from this stronghold.”
Very soon a fire of sage-bush illuminated the interior of a cave, smaller than the one just vacated, but better adapted to a stubborn and successful defense.