“Quite a large number of Indians have been killed I think,” remarked John Mason to Joseph when he resumed his place at his porthole.
“No, I don’t. The very fact that they have turned their attention to the horses shows that they haven’t much hope of taking the blockhouse.”
“I wish they’d leave soon,” exclaimed Joseph. “I’m afraid they’re going to shoot The Swallow unless they stop firing at the horses pretty quick.”
“The only way you can stop them is to make it so hot for them they’ll have to leave,” observed Mason.
“I might go out and bring him inside,” said Joseph eagerly. “Do you think I could get him out of that bunch of horses?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Mason shortly. “As long as I have an ounce of strength left in my body, I’ll use it to prevent you from doing anything so foolish, too.”
“Look there,” cried Robert suddenly. He hurried up to the spot where Joseph and John Mason were, and pointed eagerly out of one of the portholes.
“There they go!” exclaimed Robert triumphantly. “They’ve had enough.”
“So have I,” cried Joseph, with a great sigh of relief. “I thought that at any moment The Swallow was going to be shot.”
“He has run that chance ever since you’ve had him,” remarked Mason. “Every time you’ve been in a fight your horse has been in danger of being killed.”
“I know it,” said Joseph. “At the same time they haven’t been turning all their attention to him.”
“They’re going now, anyway,” remarked Robert. “We’ve made it too hot for them, I guess. We seem to be pretty good men to defend blockhouses, don’t we? What do you say to our hiring ourselves out for that purpose all along the frontier?”
“You’d better clear them out of this neighborhood before you start in anywhere else, Red,” cautioned Mason.
“They are clearing out of here now,” replied Robert. “Just look out of that porthole and you can see them going.”
What Robert said was true. Black Hawk had drawn off his forces and could now be seen leading his warriors in retreat across the prairie. His attempt to take the blockhouse had resulted in absolute failure, but five white men were dead as a result of his visit. One of the five was Walt and his loss was keenly felt by his companions.
“Poor old Walt,” exclaimed Joseph sorrowfully. “I’m sorry he had to go.”