A few seconds later the cannon spoke up with a report that rang in the boys ears for long after. The ball sped straight into the timberland and cut down a heavy sapling growing beside the piece the enemy were reloading. One desperado was killed instantly and another badly injured.
"A fair shot!" said the young captain. "Try it again," but before Dilberry could do so the cannon was withdrawn from sight.
After this came another lull, as if desperadoes and Indians were considering what to do next.
"It's a wonder they don't make a rush," said Joe, "if they have so many in their command."
"Nobody cares to risk an advance in the open, Joe," said old Benson. "More than likely they won't try to do much until dark."
Again the Indian drums were rolling, coupled with shrill warwhoops.
Then, with a wild yelling and a brandishing of rifles, about a hundred and fifty red men burst from cover and ran toward the stockade.
"They are coming!" was the cry.
"Stand firm, men, don't waste your ammunition!" Captain Moore cried. He turned to the gunner. "Let them have it, Dilberry!"
Bang! the cannon boomed out again, and the shot tore through the advancing horde of Indians, laying four of them low.
