“By Heavens, Carew I believe you are right!” shouted Captain Rudstone. “We’ve had a scare for nothing. This follow was certainly alone, or his comrades would have blazed away at us before this. I fancied I saw him stir just now—if he’s not dead, we may get some information out of him.”
With that the captain started toward the fallen Indian, keeping his musket ready and darting keen glances right and left. I would have followed him, but at sight of Arnold’s pale face I changed my mind. His left arm was bleeding profusely below the shoulder, and three or four of his men were standing about him.
“Is the bone hit?” I inquired anxiously.
“No; it’s only a flesh wound,” Arnold replied. “But I can’t afford to lose much more blood. Fix me up, some of you fellows.”
Just then Christopher Burley pushed in among us, his countenance agitated and frightened.
“Is the danger over?” he cried.
“Are there no more Indians in the hills?”
Before I could answer him I was tapped on the shoulder, and turning round I saw Flora; she had left the sledge, and her eyes looked into mine calmly and fearlessly.
“Do not be alarmed,” I said. “It seems there was but one Indian.”
“I was afraid we were going to be attacked,” she answered; “but I am not a bit frightened now. See, my hand is steady. Let me bandage this poor man’s wound, Denzil.”