“‘Tain’t no singin’ school,” said Shif’less Sol, in a clear voice that Paul could hear above the uproar, “but, then, yellin’ don’t hurt nobody, either.  I’d be pow’ful tired ef I used my mouth that way.  But jest you remember, Paul, that noise ain’t bullets.”

It seemed to Paul that the Shawnees had come to the same conclusion, because all the yelling suddenly ceased, and with it the firing.  Brown forms that had been flitting about disappeared, too, and all at once there was silence in the wilderness, and nothing to be seen save the hunters and the still, brown figures among the rocks and bushes.  To Paul it was wonderful, this melting away of the battle, and this disappearance of the foe, all in a flash.  He rubbed his eyes, and could scarcely believe that it was real.  But there were the still, brown figures, and by a tree near him lay another still figure, in hunting shirt and leggings, with his face upturned to the sky.  One of the hunters had been shot through the heart, and had died instantly and without noise.  Three others had been wounded, but they were not complaining.

Presently a little hum of talk arose, and Shif’less Sol once more moved comfortably.

“Bit off more’n they could chaw,” he said reflectively.  “Will wait a while before takin’ another bite.  Guess I’ll rest now.”

He stretched himself luxuriously, took out a piece of venison and began to eat it, at the same time handing a piece to Paul.

“Atween fights I allus eat,” he said.  “Better do the same, Paul.”

But Paul had no appetite.  He crawled over to Henry, and asked him what he expected to happen next.

“They won’t give up,” replied Henry, “that is sure.  They know that they outnumber us two or three to one, and I’ve an idea that this is a band of picked warriors.”

“You think, too, they’ll want to revenge their losses?”

“Of course.  And they’re likely to attack again before night.  It’s not noon yet, and they have lots of time.”

Paul crawled back to his tree, and, knowing that he would have to wait again, forced himself to eat the venison that Shif’less Sol had given to him.

The Shawnees remained silent and hidden in the forest, and the white men, voiceless, too, lay waiting behind the trees.  Between them stretched the fallen, their brown faces upturned to the red sun, which sailed peacefully on in a sky of cloudless blue.

CHAPTER VII

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE DARK

Shif’less Sol rose to a sitting position, and carefully cracked his joints, one by one.

“I wuz a bit afeard, Paul,” he said, “that I had jest petrified, layin’ thar so long.  A tired man likes to rest, but thar ain’t no sense in turnin’ hisself into a stone image.”

Sol seemed so careless and easy that Paul drew an inference from his manner.

“You are not expecting anything more from them just now, Sol?”