"What the blazes are you doing?" demanded the indignant Perkins, scrambling to his feet. "What's the use of knocking a feller over that way?" By this time he was erect and gazing, or rather glaring, back into the gloom, as if to make sure where his man was standing and then demolish him. But, to his amazement, his man was not to be seen; he had fled,--driven away, as the settler believed, by the fear of the other Indians that were so near at hand. Perkins was silent for a moment, not knowing what he should do. Then he called the name of the Mohawk in a cautious tone: "Hello! Leaner-Winger, where are you?" But the silence gave no token, and he pronounced the name of Ned, Jo and Rosa in turn, without any further success. "They've all left me," he muttered angrily. "All of them together haven't the courage that I have alone. Wall, I can get along without them if they can without me; but if there are Indians, I'll bet they'll be sorry they gave me the slip. It ain't every party that's lucky enough to have a man of my experience and skill and courage to help them out of trouble--blazes!" The bravery of the settler, which had been growing during the silence succeeding the first alarm, suddenly collapsed when his ear caught a sound, precisely as if some one was stealing over the leaves toward him. There must be real danger after all! "Who's there?" called Perkins, in a shiver. "If you don't answer I'll shoot." Nevertheless, no answer was evoked by such a threat and the settler made up his mind that if he could not effect an orderly retreat he must make some kind of a fight. Accordingly, he peered ahead in the darkness, seeking a view of the crouching redskin, with the purpose of giving him the whole charge of the musket. "I hope there ain't more than one of them, for if there happens to be," he said to himself, "I ain't likely to get a chance to reload before they come down on me. It was an infernal mean piece of business in that crowd to sneak off that way and leave me in the lurch just when I was likely to need their help." While he was muttering in his endless fashion, he was still retreating as stealthily as possible, hoping to get far enough off from the dangerous spot to give himself a chance to make a run for some safe concealment. He had taken only a step or two, when he was hailed from somewhere in the gloom ahead. "Stop, white man, or me take scalp!" The settler paused at this fearful summons and his knees smote together. "Wh-wh-what do yo-yo-you want?" he stammered, hardly conscious of what he was saying. "Want your scalp, white man." "Thunderation! I hain't got any! My wife pulled out all my hair the first week we were married. I'm bald-headed, so what's the--" "Stop!" broke in the voice of the hidden Indian, who seemed to know that he was trying to steal away. "Well, what do you want?" asked the victim, showing a disposition to argue the matter. "Want your scalp! Come up--hand it to me."