O’Neill bit his lip with anger.
“Who proposed this attack?” he cried, with flashing eyes. “I brought my men hither at your request. They were not to risk their lives. If your Indians are brave, they can fire the fort.”
Splitlog turned away without another word, and a few minutes later a number of fiery arrows were seen to ascend almost from beneath the very palisades. Several remained in the roof, and Colonel O’Neill clapped his hands over the demon’s success.
Thus far during the battle not a shot had been fired from the fort. The allies wondered at this silence; but they were not cognizant of the thrilling scenes being enacted behind the strong walls.
Lashed to a tree on the river’s bank, and strongly guarded by three white men and two Wyandots, Wolf-Cap saw the discharge of the fiery missiles. Since his arrival among the allies he had seen nothing of Royal Funk; but he knew that that worthy had absented himself but temporarily.
“We’ll get the fort to-night,” said one of the outlaws, turning to Wolf-Cap, during the flight of the blazing shafts.
“Sir, you don’t know who defends it,” the trapper said, quickly, and with pride. “Yon walls protect the bravest men in New Connecticut.”
“But, Captain Strong—what do you think of him?” asked the outlaw, with a curious smile.
“He has completely deceived me.”
The white guards exchanged significant glances.