It was passed over and James Morris examined it with care. At this point Sam Barringford also came up and he, too, looked the arrow over.
"Ain't no p'ison thar," said the old frontiersman. "Thet tribe uses blue juice an' if thar war p'ison the blood would turn greenish. But it's rich red, as ye kin see. No, I allow as how he ain't p'isoned."
"I believe Sam tells the truth," said James Morris.
"But it's a fearful wound," said Dave. "I saw the arrow strike. It went in straight."
All set to work to revive the unconscious sufferer and Barringford insisted upon obtaining some liquor and forcing a few teaspoonsful down the wounded man's throat. At last they had the satisfaction of seeing Joseph Morris give a short gasp and open his eyes dreamily.
"Oh!" he murmured and for a moment was silent. "I--I am hit!" he went on.
"Be quiet, Joseph," said his wife, bending over him. "Yes, you were hit in the breast with an arrow. We will do what we can for you, but you mustn't move, or the wound will start to bleed again."
"The Indians have retreated," said Rodney. "The rangers have come, and Uncle James is here, too, and so is Henry."
"Thank God!" And then Joseph Morris relapsed once more into silence, being almost too weak to breathe much less to speak.
Little Nell had been crying bitterly, and now Henry took her in his arms and did his best to soothe her, for he knew his mother would not leave his father's side.
"The bad, bad Indians!" cried the little girl. "Oh, how could they come and shoot at us! And last night they tried to burn us up with their fire arrows! Oh, it was dreadful!" And she buried her curly head in her brother's shoulder.
The hours to follow were gloomy enough, and ones which those in the stockade never forgot. The man who had been mortally wounded died shrieking with pain, and the sounds rang in the ears of both young and old, filling the latter with new grief. The dead were buried together in one deep hole and over their last resting place were rolled several heavy stones, that no wild beasts might disturb their common grave. The service at this funeral was short, for there was no telling when the Indians might make another attack.
Toward the middle of the afternoon word came in through the friendly Indians under White Buffalo that the French Indians, as they were called, were preparing for some new move. Instantly every available man in the fort leaped for his gun and even some of the women armed themselves, determined to fight to the last rather than risk the horrors of becoming captives of the enemy.