The Indian, having got within speaking distance, now halted; but seeing no one whom he could address, he proceeded around the building, apparently examining our preparations for defence. At length he again stopped, having satisfied himself that the building was fortified, and contained a garrison.
“Friends,” he shouted, “do you want to lose your scalps? If not, march out and leave this house to us. We mean to come in.”
Uncle Jeff now appeared at the window opposite to where the Indian was standing.
“Clear out of this, you rascal!” he exclaimed. “We do not intend that you shall have our scalps, or get inside these walls. If you make the attempt, you will pay dearly for it; that is what I’ve got to say.”
The Indian seemed to recognise Uncle Jeff. “You, Jeff Crockett,” he shouted out, “you good man! If you like to go out you may go, and we take scalps of rest.”
Uncle Jeff burst into a loud laugh.
“That’s a likely thing,” he thundered out. “If it was not for your white flag, I would treat you as you deserve.”
The tone of voice in which this was said convinced the Indian that Uncle Jeff was in earnest; and in no very dignified fashion he scampered off to rejoin his companions.
The whole of the band now united in giving utterance to a terrific war-whoop, and came rushing up to the house. There was no longer any doubt as to their intentions; they halted for a moment to fire, and then came right on at a rapid pace, up to the palisade.
“Now, lads, give it them!” shouted Uncle Jeff; and every bullet fired by our little garrison brought down one of our foes.