He looked into the Briton’s eyes a moment, and then glanced at the sleeping outlaws.
The next instant he threw Huldah before his heart, and sprung toward the forest, a wild yell pealing from his throat as he executed the latter action.
The effect of spring and yell was electrical!
Royal Funk and all his comrades, save Whalley and Zigler, leaped to their feet, to be greeted with a volley from the British muskets.
It was a telling volley. Every Night-Hawk sunk back, either killed or wounded, and Spagano, the girl-stealer, reeled like a youthful drunkard.
Huldah Armstrong fell from his grasp, and the next moment Colonel O’Neill was at her side. As he stooped to lift her up, the Wyandot darted to his feet and hurled him back with the strength of a tiger.
Soldiers sprung to their leader’s aid; but ere they reached the spot Spagano and the girl were gone!
The red-coats caught a glimpse of the Indian’s dusky figure as he disappeared, and started to pursue. For several minutes his footsteps guided them, and then those sounds ceased. Colonel O’Neill was resolved that Huldah Armstrong should not escape him.
He had the fire fanned into a new existence, and soon a dozen torches flashed their lurid flames throughout the forest.
The soldiers knew that it was poor policy to hunt a hidden Indian with torches, but it was evident that Spagano was desperately, ay, mortally, wounded, and had fallen somewhere in the neighborhood. This conjecture, advanced by the colonel, was soon confirmed.