No breath of wind
stirred leaf or bough, all nature breathed peace, and, lulled to a sense
of security, the little party ventured farther among the trees than was
prudent. In Indian warfare, appearances were ever deceitful; the greater
the apparent security, the greater the need for caution. So it was now
here.
"I guess it ain't all right," one man was saying; "I don't like it. Get
back, boys."
And even as he spoke, "crack" went a rifle on their left--"crack,"
"crack," "crack," came the sound of fire-arms on three sides; and as
they turned and ran for the breastwork, a man hiccoughed and fell on his
face, clutching at the grass, coughing up his life-blood. No time to
turn and help; the yelling Redskins were at their heels, tomahawk and
scalping knife in hand; delay meant certain death for all, and the
fugitives tumbled into the breastwork just in time. Then, save for one
awful scream of agony, again for a time all was quiet; for any sign that
might be seen of them by the white men, the forest might have swallowed
up the enemy. But let one of these white men for but an instant show his
head over the breastwork, or in any way expose an arm or even a hand,
then from the concealed foe came at once a hail of bullets, and the
forest rang with the crack of rifles.
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