If you're overpowered, Sergeant, keep your men together and retreat in good order, and we'll fight from the river."
"Yis, sorr." And Pat gallantly plunged ahead, into the brush. "Kentucky an the Irish ag'in the redskins, lads," he cheered. "But mind your eyes."
This was exciting. The willows were thick—good hiding-place. Where was Cruzatte—poor old Cruzatte with the one eye? Peter stuck close behind Pat. His nostrils were wide, his eyes roved, his every sense was on the alert. He was Oto once more. Now was heard a crashing, before. Elk? Indian? Hah!
"That's a mighty quare sort o' Injun, to be makin' all that noise," muttered Pat, peering, his rifle advanced at a ready.
And through a little open space here came Cruzatte! He was striding along, with stained hands, his rifle on his shoulder, making for the boats and plainly much satisfied with himself.
"Hist!" said Pat. "Cruzatte! 'Asy now."
Cruzatte started, and crouched.
"Have ye seen Injuns?"
"Non," answered Cruzatte. "I shoot one elk, follow 'nodder."
"Come back to the boats with us, an' step lively," ordered Pat. "There be Injuns 'round. They shot the cap'n in the leg."
"My gracious!" stammered Cruzatte. "But I see no sign."
