Indians of North America -- Juvenile fiction; Pioneers -- West (U.S.) -- Juvenile fiction; Slavery -- Juvenile fiction
I hurried back and had scarcely got half-way across the camp, though it
was not many paces wide, when I saw Dio lift up his double-handed axe,
and strike a blow with it at some object which was to me invisible. The
Dominie, who had seen the occurrence, rushed back to the breastwork. We
were just in time to catch sight of the feather-bedecked heads of two
Indians rising above the bank, on which they were about to place their
knees. The next moment Dio's axe came down on one of them, while the
Dominie struck a blow at the other which hurled him backwards.
"Give a look to the side of the gully, they will be attempting to get in
there presently. The Indians expect to surprise us, but we will turn
the tables on them," whispered Mr Tidey.
I followed his directions, but on looking over the breastwork could see
no one. My father and the other men were on their feet in a moment.
Hitherto not a word had been spoken above a whisper, so that should any
redskins be making their way up the gully they would not discover that
we were on the alert, unless the sound of the falling bodies of those
who had been killed had reached their ears. I was quickly joined by
Uncle Denis and Dan, who had crept along so as not to show their heads
over the fortifications. We had thrown a quantity of brushwood on the
logs, which served more effectually to conceal us, with here and there
an opening through which we could look. We each of us stationed
ourselves at one of these loop-holes. Several minutes had passed, I
listened, expecting that some sound would indicate the approach of the
enemy, but I could neither hear nor see anything, and I began to fancy
that the three Indians we had disposed of were alone engaged in the
attempt to surprise us, or that their companions, if they had any, on
their being killed, had taken to flight. What was going on, on the
other side of the camp, I could not tell, but I felt very sure that my
father was keeping a vigilant watch, and was prepared for whatever might
occur. The camp was wrapped in as perfect silence as if we had all been
asleep. Presently it was broken by the reports of rifles fired almost
simultaneously, succeeded by a chorus of the most fearful yells and
whoops I had ever heard, proceeding from the throats it seemed of a
whole legion of savages. The horses and terrified cattle tugged at
their tether ropes, two or three breaking loose and rushing up to the
side I was on for protection, being the furthest from the dreaded
sounds. Others stood trembling, too paralysed with fear to move. Had
it not been for the breastwork, I suspect we should have lost many of
them over the cliff. My first impulse was to hasten to the side
attacked, but in the interval between the war-whoops, I heard my
father's voice shouting, "Stay all of you at your posts, we don't know
on which side we may next be attacked."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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