He knew Wyatt's figure as well as Wyatt knew his, and the dark mass with him was certainly composed of his own men.The other Indians and Tories, in all likelihood, would turn back soon, and that fact would give him the chance he wished.
They were clear of the town now, running lightly through the orchard, and Shif'less Sol suggested that they enter the woods at once.
"We can soon dodge 'em thar in the dark," he said.
"We don't want to dodge 'em," said Henry.
The shiftless one was surprised, but when he glanced at Henry's face he understood.
"You want to lead 'em on an' to a fight?" he said.
Henry nodded.
"Glad you thought uv it," said Shif'less Sol.
They crossed the very corn field through which they had come, Braxton Wyatt and his band in full cry after them.Several shots were fired, but the three kept too far ahead for any sort of marksmanship, and they were not touched.When they finally entered the woods they curved a little, and then, keeping just far enough ahead to be within sight, but not close enough for the bullets, Henry led them straight toward the camp of the riflemen.
As he approached, he fired his own rifle, and uttered the long shout of the forest runner.He shouted a second time, and now Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross joined in the chorus, their great cry penetrating far through the woods.
Whether Braxton Wyatt or any of his mixed band of Indians and Tories suspected the meaning of those great shouts Henry never knew, but the pursuit came on with undiminished speed.There was a good silver moon now, shedding much light, and he saw Wyatt still in the van, with his Tory lieutenant close behind, and after them red men and white, spreading out like a fan to inclose the fugitives in a trap.The blood leaped in his veins.It was a tide of fierce joy.He had achieved both of the purposes for which he had come.He had thoroughly scouted the Seneca Castle, and he was about to come to close quarters with Braxton Wyatt and the band which he had made such a terror through the valleys.
Shif'less Sol saw the face of his young comrade, and he was startled.He had never before beheld it so stern, so resolute, and so pitiless.He seemed to remember as one single, fearful picture all the ruthless and terrible scenes of the last year.
Henry uttered again that cry which was at once a defiance and a signal, and from the forest ahead of him it was answered, signal for signal.The riflemen were coming, Paul, Long Jim, and Heemskerk at their head.They uttered a mighty cheer as they saw the flying three, and their ranks opened to receive them.From the Indians and Tories came the long whoop of challenge, and every one in either band knew that the issue was now about to be settled by battle, and by battle alone.They used all the tactics of the forest.Both sides instantly dropped down among the trees and undergrowth, three or four hundred yards apart, and for a few moments there was no sound save heavy breathing, heard only by those who lay close by.Not a single human being would have been visible to an ordinary eye there in the moonlight, which tipped boughs and bushes with ghostly silver.Yet no area so small ever held a greater store of resolution and deadly animosity.On one side were the riflemen, nearly every one of whom had slaughtered kin to mourn, often wives and little children, and on the other the Tories and Iroquois, about to lose their country, and swayed by the utmost passions of hate and revenge.
"Spread out," whispered Henry."Don't give them a chance to flank us.You, Sol, take ten men and go to the right, and you, Heemskerk, take ten and go to the left.""It is well," whispered Heemskerk."You have a great head, Mynheer Henry."Each promptly obeyed, but the larger number of the riflemen remained in the center, where Henry knelt, with Paul and Long Jim on one side of him, and Silent Tom on the other.When he thought that the two flanking parties had reached the right position, he uttered a low whistle, and back came two low whistles, signals that all was ready.Then the line began its slow advance, creeping forward from tree to tree and from bush to bush.Henry raised himself up a little, but he could not yet see anything where the hostile force lay hidden.They went a little farther, and then all lay down again to look.
Tom Ross had not spoken a word, but none was more eager than he.
He was almost flat upon the ground, and he had been pulling himself along by a sort of muscular action of his whole body.
Now he was so still that he did not seem to breathe.Yet his eyes, uncommonly eager now, were searching the thickets ahead.
They rested at last on a spot of brown showing through some bushes, and, raising his rifle, he fired with sure aim.The Iroquois uttered his death cry, sprang up convulsively, and then fell back prone.Shots were fired in return, and a dozen riflemen replied to them.The battle was joined.
They heard Braxton Wyatt's whistle, the challenging war cry of the Iroquois, and then they fought in silence, save for the crack of the rifles.The riflemen continued to advance in slow, creeping fashion, always pressing the enemy.Every time they caught sight of a hostile face or body they sent a bullet at it, and Wyatt's men did the same.The two lines came closer, and all along each there were many sharp little jets of fire and smoke.
Some of the riflemen were wounded, and two were slain, dying quietly and without interrupting their comrades, who continued to press the combat, Henry always leading in the center, and Shif'less Sol and Heemskerk on the flanks.
This battle so strange, in which faces were seen only for a moment, and which was now without the sound of voices, continued without a moment's cessation in the dark forest.The fury of the combatants increased as the time went on, and neither side was yet victorious.Closer and closer came the lines.Meanwhile dark clouds were piling in a bank in the southwest.Slow thunder rumbled far away, and the sky was cut at intervals by lightning.
