They got their horses to their feet and out of the hollow; Jack had laid his plan before night settled, and he knew what he wanted to do. “Right after me, one at a time,” said he. “Lead your horses, and when you feel me stop, do the same.” Down the slope of the knoll went the three, in Indian file; ahead of them all was dusk; around them the silence settled like death. Half-way down, Jack paused; the others did likewise, as directed, the horses huddling together for companionship. Frank was about to whisper a question as to why they had halted, but Jack stopped him at the first syllable. Then the young Virginian became aware of a movement in the darkness near to them--the soft, steady forward movement of some low lying mass. With a thrill he realized what it meant; the Indians were advancing to the attack. CHAPTER VI SIGHTING THE ENEMY Like the slow lapping of black water the bands of creeping Indians ebbed forward. Frank Lawrence held his rifle ready to fire at the word; and as he stood waiting, he wondered why the command was not given. But Jack Davis was observant; he had planned the direction of their attempt with an eye to probabilities; and what he had figured upon happening came about in due course. Upon this side of the knoll, but some distance from it, there was a shallow ravine; when the Creeks on this side advanced to the attack earlier in the day, they split their forces at this ravine and came on in two separate bodies. The boy took a desperate chance upon the same thing’s happening in the darkness, and so had led the way, with the ravine directly ahead. Slowly the creeping redskins moved forward up the knoll; they passed within a dozen yards upon either side of the crouching group and continued unaware of the situation. A minute passed, then another--and when Frank had finally despaired, in the suspense, of Jack’s ever giving the word to go on, it came. Cautiously they urged their animals on down the slope; they were now behind the Creeks; ahead was the whole wide wilderness. A hundred yards or more from the spot where the savages passed them on the hillside, Jack whispered: “Mount! But go slowly.” They clambered into the saddle; Running Elk, who had clung to the packhorse during all, kept the faithful beast beside his own horse as they rode along. After having gone something less than a mile they heard a yell, faint, but high pitched and exultant, from the distance; rifles cracked and a flare of light lit the sky. “They’ve reached the summit of the knoll,” spoke Jack. “And they’ve let drive with everything they had.” After the scattering of shots there was a short pause; a murmur, dull and sustained, came from the direction of their late fort; then, as though the Indians had just realized the escape of their intended victims, a screech of rage, hate and disappointment swept the still night with shuddering intensity.