Читать книгу Forest Glen; or, The Mohawk's Friendship онлайн

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"I don't think there's any danger: there's two of us here."

"My rifle can't be depended upon," said Cal.

"But there's two more loaded in the brackets, and two smooth-bores; and we're not obliged to sit near the doors."

"Oh, don't, husband! an Indian always seems to me just like the Evil One: you can't hear or see him till he is upon you. They may be lurking round the house this moment." She had scarcely finished when there was a loud rap on the door.

Cal, placing the pine sliver in a stone made to hold it on the hearth, took a rifle from the wall. Honeywood said, "Who is there?"

"Wasaweela," was the reply in the unmistakable tone and accent of a savage.

"We shall be murdered," cried Mrs. Honeywood, catching the sleeping child from the cradle. "O Edward! fire right through the door, and kill him."

"I shall do no such thing: he's an old friend of mine;" and he instantly began to unbar the door. His wife ran into the bedroom with the child in her arms, little Eddie following in his nightgown, holding fast to his mother's clothes, and screaming lustily in concert with his brother. Cal Holdness, on the other hand, a true frontier boy cradled amid alarms, restored to the bracket the rifle he had held ready to fire.