he true
state of things, it must have seemed as if the place were defended by a
legion of demons. To add to the hullabaloo Buttercup's blunderbuss
poured forth its contents upon a group of red warriors who were rushing
towards the front gate, with such a cannon-like sound and such wonderful
effect, that the rush was turned into a sudden and limping retreat. The
effect indeed, was more severe even than Buttercup had intended, for a
stray buckshot had actually taken a direction which had been feared, and
grazed her master's left arm! Happily the wound was very slight, and,
to do the poor damsel justice, she could not see that her master was
jumping from one place to another like a caged lion. Like the same
animal, however, he gave her to understand what she had done, by
shouting in a thunderous bass roar that fully justified his sobriquet--

"Mind your eye, Buttercup! Not so low next time!"

The immediate result of this vigorous defence was to make the Indians
draw off and retire to the woods--presumably for consultation. By
previous arrangement the negro girl issued from the house with three
fresh repeaters in her arms, ran round to the combatants with them and
returned with their almost empty rifles. These she and Mary proceeded
to reload in the hall, and then returned to their post at the upper
front window.

The morning was by this time pretty well advanced, and Jackson felt a
little uncertain as to what he should now do. It was still rather dark;
but in a very short time, he knew, dawn would spread over the east, when
it would, of course, be quite impossible to defend the walls of the
little fort without revealing the small number of its defenders. On the
other hand, if they should retire at once the enemy might find a
lodgement within, among the outbuildings, before there was light enough
to prevent them by picking off the leaders; in which case the assailants
would be able to apply fire to the wooden wails of the house without
much risk.

"If they manage to pile up enough o' brush to clap a light to," he
grumbled to himself in an undertone, "it's all up wi' us."

The thought had barely passed through his brain, when a leaden
messenger, intended to pass through it, carried his cap off his head,
and the fire that had discharged it almost blinded him. Bigfoot, the
chief of the savages, had wriggled himself, snake-fashion, up to the
stockade unseen, and while Roaring Bull was meditating what was best to