CHAPTER XXVIII
The report that the Indians had attacked the pack-train was true, and as soon as he learned of this, Colonel Bouquet ordered the advance guard to fall back to the support of the train.
"We must save our horses and our supplies!" was the cry, and back went regulars and rangers, in double-quick order, the Indians on either side of the road sending in a hot and galling fire as they retreated.
The pack-train was thoroughly disorganized, for the firing had frightened the horses, and they were plunging in all directions. As Dave, Rodney, and Barringford retreated in a bunch, one horse came tearing along the road and bumping against the charger ridden by one of the captains of the regulars, pitched the officer headlong to the ground.
"Look out, there!" cried Dave, for another horse was coming on also at a reckless speed. The steed was on the point of stamping on the fallen captain, when Dave caught him by the curb and swung him aside. At the same moment Rodney dragged the fallen captain in the opposite direction.
"I—I—thank you!" gasped the fallen officer, and with Rodney's aid he scrambled to his feet. "Very well done, sir!" he called out to Dave, and then ran to rejoin his men.
The Indians on the sides of the road had disappeared, and for a moment the troops had a breathing spell. But the enemy were only reloading their weapons, and now, with fierce war-whoops, they came out once more, and bullets and arrows flew thickly, killing officers, men, and horses. In the midst of the tumult some of the cattle broke loose and went galloping down the back road, directly into a band of approaching red men.
Covered with perspiration and dirt, Dave, Rodney, and the old frontiersman continued to use their rifles whenever an opportunity presented itself. The English were at a disadvantage, being not only in the roadway, but also on something of a hill, while the Indians kept to the shelter of the brushwood and the tall timber. Already a score of men had fallen and six horses were dead or disabled.
For hour after hour the battle went on. Occasionally there came a lull, and the English would think the Indians were retreating. But then would come those mad war-whoops, and the painted red men would leap into the open as if by magic and pour in their deadly fire. They also lost heavily, especially through the fire of the sharpshooters and experienced hunters, who picked them off whenever the chance showed itself.
At five o'clock the little body of soldiers, hemmed in on all sides, was almost exhausted. Dave and Rodney were so dry they could scarcely talk, and not a drop of water was to be obtained. Some of the soldiers were resting on the ground, unable to stand because of the terrible strain endured.
"We can't keep this up much longer!" panted Rodney. He was deathly pale from exhaustion.
"We've got to keep up!" replied Barringford. The teeth of the old frontiersman were set and his eyes gleamed like those of some wild beast. He was thoroughly aroused and ready to fight as never before.
Soon came another attack, and, led by Barringford, the rangers rushed upon one band of Indians and drove them deep into the woods. In the meantime the regular troops fought with renewed vigor, and, as a consequence, the red men retreated. Then darkness fell, and gradually the battle came, for the time being, to an end.
"Perhaps this night will be our last." Such was the thought of more than one soldier. The troops did not dare to move, for fear of falling into some trap. Gathering his men around him, Colonel Bouquet made a short speech.
"We must be on our guard to-night," he said. "I expect every man to do his duty. Should one man fail, it may cost all of us our lives."
In the pack-train were a number of bags of flour, and of these an inclosure was made, into which were carried the wounded. All told the English had lost sixty in killed and wounded. How much the Indians had suffered never became known. Rodney had been hit in the side by an arrow, and Dave and Barringford had received numerous scratches.
"Rodney, is the wound bad?" asked Dave.
"Not very, Dave. But I wish I had some water."
"I'll get some if I can."
To get water was not easy, and Dave and Barringford spent half an hour before they found a tiny pool. They scooped up what they could in a cup and gave it to Rodney, going thirsty themselves.
Completely exhausted, the soldiers took turns in resting, while the others remained on guard. Occasionally a distant shot was heard, but that was all. The Indians were holding a council of war, to decide upon the plan of action for the morrow.
At the first streak of dawn, all the soldiers were called together and placed in a wide circle around the improvised camp. Some were behind hillocks of dirt, while others had cut brushwood with which to screen themselves.
The movement came none too soon, for just as the troops took their positions, the Indians again raised the war-cry and came rushing forward, bent upon breaking into the camp and scattering the soldiers. They had been reinforced during the night by some red men from around Venango, and soon the battle broke forth with a fury that is indescribable. Men and horses fell on all sides, and for a while the English were on the verge of becoming panic-stricken.
"Sam, this is terrible!" panted Dave. "I never had to fight so in my life! I wonder how much longer it is going to last?"
"It can't last much longer," said Rodney. The blood was running down his cheeks from a cut in the temple.
"If we could only get the Indians into the open," said the old frontiersman. "The Highlanders can shoot well enough, but they can't fight redskins behind the trees."
By ten o'clock in the morning the situation was desperate, and Colonel Bouquet realized that something must be done, or he would be defeated and annihilated. More Indians were coming up, and the little army was caught like a rat in a trap.
"It is one chance in a hundred, but we must try it," he murmured to himself, and riding forth, gave orders for several of his companies to retreat. At the same time other companies were scattered along on either side of the roadway, taking positions behind the nearest trees. The bugles sounded the retreat, but it was understood this was only a ruse.
"Good!" yelled Barringford. "That's the trick to play. Now we are goin' to show 'em a thing or two, by George!"
"If only it works," came anxiously from Dave.
"I don't understand it," said Rodney. "Are those companies going to retreat?"
"Jest far enough to deceive the redskins, Rodney."
With wild yells the two companies of Highlanders retreated on the road, and the others scattered as previously mentioned. Seeing the companies going back, the Indians raised a blood-curdling din.
"The English are retreating! The white dogs cannot withstand our fire! Forward, and slay them all!" came from the throats of the red men, and without stopping to think twice they rushed forward, poured into the road, and made after the soldiers who were on the run.
The dust was kicked up on all sides, and in the general confusion of this and gun smoke, added to the wild stampede of many horses, some of the regulars slipped away, made a double-quick march through some timber, and came up on the outside of the Indians. The red men were now caught from without and within, and realized only too late how they had been tricked.
"Fire!" was the command given, and a deadly volley was poured into the Indians. Then the regulars and sharpshooters began to pick off the chiefs. The Indians tried to break away, and in a twinkling fierce hand-to-hand encounters were in progress on all sides. The red men used their tomahawks and the rangers their hunting knives.
Side by side the Morrises and Barringford fought as gallantly as ever. A big Indian chief leaped upon Rodney and hurled him backward, but ere the red warrior could do further harm, there came a lightning-like stroke from Barringford's hunting knife and the chief fell, struck to the heart. Then another warrior threw his tomahawk at the old frontiersman, but Dave put up his rifle and the hatchet merely hit the barrel of the weapon.
Finding they could not hope to hold their own, the Indians began to retreat on both sides of the road. They broke through the troops as best they could and ran in a dozen different directions. The soldiers were ordered to go after them, and some were chased for the best part of half a mile. Finding themselves pursued so far, they hid among the trees and rocks, where they remained until nightfall made it safe for them to retreat still further.
In the pursuit of the Indians went Barringford and Dave, Rodney being too exhausted and suffering too much from his wounds to fight more. The course lay along a hill, and the rangers in the squad numbered eight.
"This is our chance to teach 'em the lesson they need," cried Barringford. "Come on!" and he went ahead, with Dave beside him.
The rangers had discovered and fired on six red men, when they came to a ragged patch of timber, with rocks on the south side. Here there was a spring, and all stopped for a much-needed drink. They were just getting the water, when there came a shower of arrows, one taking Dave in the side.
"Look out, they are coming back at us!" was the alarm, and in a trite some of the rangers were on the retreat. Then Barringford found himself surrounded, and was forced to seek shelter among the tall trees back of the spring.
Dazed by the turn of affairs, and with an intense pain in his side, Dave started to run. He felt like fainting and could scarcely see. He plowed along into some brushwood, and then scrambled over some rocks. Back of the latter was a hollow, and here he rolled over and over, until he reached a good-sized hole and tumbled in. He felt some dead leaves falling down on top of him,—and then he knew no more.
In the meantime, Barringford was having a struggle for life with three warriors who had attacked him, and he had no chance to see what had become of his younger companion. He discharged his rifle at one Indian with good effect and then swung the rifle around by the barrel.
"Keep yer distance, ye varmints!" he roared. "Keep yer distance, ye sons o' the Evil One!" And then, as one red man leaped at him with upraised tomahawk, around came his firearm, and the Indian was sent to the ground with a shattered skull. Seeing the fate of his two companions, the third Indian took to his heels and disappeared among the trees.
The fighting continued for the best part of half an hour, and then even the distant firing came to an end. Several times Barringford looked about him, but saw nothing of Dave.
"Must have gone back to camp," he murmured, hopefully, and returned with what was left of the rangers. He looked everywhere for Dave, and then rejoined Rodney.
"Have ye seen Dave?" he questioned.
"No. Why he went with you," answered Rodney.
"Then he's missing, an' I don't know whar to look fer him," returned the old frontiersman, and heaved a deep sigh.
"Oh, Sam, was he shot?"
"I don't think he was, Rodney, but I ain't sartin. We got in a terribul mix-up, an' each man had to fight fer himself fer awhile."
"We must find him, dead or alive," answered Rodney.