“This may be our last night on earth,” said one regular. “At the best, we have only a fighting chance.” Casbury had followed White Buffalo and was outside, on the watch. He fancied that he saw an Indian at a distance, but was not sure and did not fire. A half-hour went by—an unusually long time to those in the cavern, whose nerves were strung to the topmost pitch. All was now in readiness for the flight, but so far not a sound had broken the stillness. “Mebbe something has miscarried,” observed one regular. “White Buffalo may be dead,” said another. “One of the Moon Eye crowd may have been lying in wait for him.” A few minutes more passed, and even Rodney was beginning to worry, when from a distance came a rifle shot. Then arose a mad yelling, and more shots were fired. The din increased, until the alarm appeared to spread through the whole of the forest to the north of the cave. White Buffalo and his six trusty followers were making noise enough for a band of fifty, and it must be confessed that Moon Eye and his warriors were taken completely by surprise. “’Tis the Delawares!” was the cry. “They have come to do us battle!” “Mist of the Lake has been killed!” called out another. “And Squat Foot is wounded!” The din kept on, and for the time being the attention of all the Indians was taken from the cavern. This was what Rodney had hoped for, and as soon as he thought it safe, he ordered an advance. The men rushed out of the cave and, finding the coast clear, urged forward the horses, and away went the whole expedition into the woods to the south of the cavern. “There is one Injun!” cried an old frontiersman. “Don’t shoot—unless it becomes necessary!” said Rodney, hastily, as the man raised his rifle. “If we can get away silently, so much the better.” The Indian had only his bow and arrows with him. He did not stop to attack the whites, but ran into the forest,—to join those moving to the north. He, like the others, imagined that a large band of their hated rivals, the Delawares, had appeared. Rodney kept as close as possible to the horses on which rode Mrs. Dobson and the children. On the other side was Asa Dobson, in such a tremble that he could scarcely walk. The settler imagined that every minute might be his last. “I’d give all my money to be back home again!” he groaned. “Money doesn’t count here,” said Rodney, briefly. “We must use our wits, and if the worst comes to the worst, fight to the last,—for the sake of your wife and the children!” CHAPTER XII HOME ONCE MORE The route to the river was a rough one, over jagged rocks and around stunted growths of evergreens and elderberry bushes, with here and there a bramble bush or a tangle of wild grapes. Often the men stumbled, and it was with difficulty that the horses got through without throwing their loads.