"Kneel down," said Lance, in quite his ordinary voice, kneeling himself, so that the armed negroes behind him could fire over his head. Lord Fairfax and George did likewise. The perfect coolness and self-possession of Lance and Lord Fairfax amazed George. He had never seen old soldiers under fire before. For himself, he felt wildly excited, and was conscious that his features were working convulsively, and his heart thumped so loudly against his ribs that he heard it over the crashing of the musket-balls. It flashed before his mind that any and every moment might be his last, and he thought of his mother and Betty; he thought of everything, in fact, except one—that he might run away. He stood as if nailed to the ground, loading and firing faster than he ever did in his life, and so accurately that both the Earl and Lance were astonished.
All at once George's senses seemed to return to him, and he felt as calm and unshaken as either the Earl or Lance. He turned to the Earl and said:
"The two swivels are in the cellar directly back of us, and on a level with us. If we had one we could command this passage."
"Get it," replied the Earl, laconically. "Take Cæsar with you—it is on wheels, you know."
George darted into the cellar, and directly the rumbling of a small gun upon a rude carriage, with the wheels cut from solid logs of wood, was heard. Cæsar was dragging the swivel out, while George followed with the powder and shot. There was now only one Indian lying stark before them in the passage. Without a moment's thought, George darted forward to drag the prostrate form out of the way of the gun, lest, if the Indian were dead, it might mutilate him, and if only wounded, it might kill him.
As George stooped forward to lift him, the Indian, who was bleeding profusely from a wounded leg, suddenly threw his left arm around George's neck, and with the other hand drew a tomahawk from under him. But George was too quick for him, and catching his arm, lifted him bodily, and carried him back into the passageway where they stood.
It was Black Bear.
"You a squaw-man," was Lance's comment.
Black Bear said no word, but raising himself from the ground, produced a leather thong, which he tied around his bleeding leg, rudely but not unskilfully checking the flow of blood, after which Lance tied him securely and put him in a corner.
There was now a brief pause, and the guns were reloaded, and all were prepared for a second assault, while the swivel commanded the passageway thoroughly.