Ware," said the guide, "an' will bring the
other with him, too. God has given him a woods cunnin' that none of us
can match."
Mr. Ware let his hands fall, and became the man again. The retreating
force still fell back slowly, firing steadily by the flashes at the
pursuing foe.
Henry Ware had not gone more than fifty yards before he was completely
hidden from his friends. Then he turned to a savage, at least in
appearance. He threw off the raccoon-skin cap and hunting shirt, drew up
his hair in the scalp lock, tying it there with a piece of fringe from
his discarded hunting shirt, and then turned off at an angle into the
woods. Presently he beheld the dark figures of the Shawnees, springing
from tree to tree or bent low in the undergrowth, but all following
eagerly. When he saw them he too bent over and fired toward his own
comrades, then he whirled again to the right, and sprang about as if he
were seeking another target. To all appearances, he was, in the darkness
and driving rain, a true Shawnee, and the manner and gesture of an
Indian were second nature to him.
But he had little fear of being discovered at such a time.
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