Daniel opened his eyes sleepily. It was still dark, but there was a faint suggestion of grayness to herald the dawn. He frowned a little, wondering why he had wakened so early.
A sudden loud report startled him. Something whistled past his ear. He was on his feet with one bound. “Indians!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. On the echo of his shout came the long ululating yell of savages in the cover of the woods.
The others who had been sleeping about the fire were on their feet almost as soon as he was. “The hosses!” roared Josiah. “Git the hosses!”
Daniel snatched up his musket and ran toward the place where he had loosed his string the previous night. The horses had been hobbled, as always, and he felt sure they could not have gone too far. But they were in the woods, where it was still completely dark, and the Indians were in the woods, too.
He saw, from the corner of his eye, the racing figures of Josiah, Ben, Henry, and Amos. There was another, smaller figure coming from the house, running on fleet feet. Polly!
A movement in the woods made him drop down behind a tree to fire. He heard a yell after his shot had sped toward the half-seen target, and hoped that he had hit one of the marauders. Henry, on his left, was firing coolly, and reloading and firing again with incredible speed.
Daniel forced himself to go forward toward the line of trees. The horses were in there. If he did not move quickly, the Indians would have stolen them all. He wanted, as he had wanted nothing else in his life, to be brave just this once. To find Josiah’s horses, to help this man who had befriended him. But he did not know whether he could make his feet obey his will.
Several of the horses, frightened by the noise, now came running from the woods. Their hobbles had been removed, their bells silenced. Daniel and Amos caught them and turned them over to Polly to tie together securely. The animals were wild and rearing, and Daniel wondered if Polly could handle them, but she managed them easily. Polly could do many things.
There was no time to think. He and Amos ran back toward the woods again. The menfolk had disappeared, and he realized that they had entered the forest to stalk the attackers. A rifle barrel was thrust from the window of the cabin that fronted toward the woods, and Daniel knew that it was held steadily by Mrs. Gregg.
Two more horses came charging from the woods, urged on by Ben who was briefly glimpsed thwacking them on the rump. Daniel caught them, but found he could not hold them and his musket, too.
“Here, let me,” Polly said at his side, taking one of the horses from him and starting to lead it back toward the house.
A swift, painted figure leaped from behind one of the trees nearby, and the rifle in the window spoke. The man fell to the ground.
“Good shot, Ma!” Polly shrieked. Her shift was torn, and her tawny hair flew in the wind. Daniel suddenly found himself laughing. He did not know why.
His laugh was cut short as another Indian, mounted on a horse, swept from the woods. There hadn’t been time for Mrs. Gregg to reload, Daniel knew. He tried to raise his own musket, but the horse to whose bridle he was clinging, reared and knocked the gun from his hands. The mounted Indian came straight at Polly. Without a second thought, Daniel rushed to put himself between them, but the Indian swerved and caught up the girl as if she had been made of thistledown. With one hand he held her struggling form while he guided the horse back to the forest.