Large numbers of the attacking party had remained on the river banks for the purpose of intercepting the white-faces’ escape, should they be so fortunate as to leave the island safely.
The cabin was almost noiselessly surrounded; but the cautious footsteps had been heard by Massasoit, and the faithful animal would follow them around the limits of the hut, with flashing eyes and bristling back.
“I hate this suspense,” said George Long, looking up into the trapper’s face. “I wish the ball would open.”
“They’re hatching up something devilish. I know Tom Kyle, and what he can’t think of, that Red Eagle can.”
At this juncture Massasoit sprung to one corner of the hut with a fierce growl.
“The devils’ work has commenced,” said Shackelford, calmly. “They’re burning us out!”
Without another word he began to ascend to the eaves, with the aid of the rough logs that formed the cabin. George Long watched him by the fire, that cracked in the center of the room.
Presently he heard the report of a pistol, and the sound of a heavy body falling on brushwood quickly followed.
“One Pawnee won’t kindle any more fires,” said Frontier Shack, descending. “First blood for Ote Shack. Next!”
A wild yell drowned his last words, and again a volley was poured against the door.
The hunter sprung from the logs and snatched a torch from the fire.
“Dash me if they ain’t standing around the tree!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with fierce triumph. “I’ll make a scatteration ’mong their ranks now, by Joshua! I will!”
He sprung toward a heavy tinned box which sat in one corner of the apartment, and threw back the lid with his left hand. The next moment he stepped back, thrusting the torch into the box as he executed the movement. A slight noise, like the explosion of a few grains of powder succeeded, and a white smoke rose from the recesses of the box.
But the noise that followed the explosion of the fuse was most terrific. It shook the cabin from gable to foundation and drove our young buffalo-hunter from the crevice by which he was standing. His eyes, too, were blinded by a bright light, and before the noise died away he heard the shrieks of Indians, frightened, wounded, and dying!
“By Joshua! it set the tree on fire!” cried the trapper, gazing at the large cottonwood, now terribly lacerated by the mine which so long had slept in its recesses.