She raised
herself just a little on one elbow and surveyed the surrounding
thicket. She saw only the dead embers of the fire, and the dark
forms of the Indians lying upon the bare ground. Had it not been
for the knife and pistol in her hand, she could have believed
that the voice was only a dream.
There was a slight rustling in the thicket, and a Seneca rose
quickly to his knees, grasping his rifle in both hands. The
woman's fingers clutched the knife and pistol more tightly, and
her whole gaunt figure trembled. The Seneca listened only a
moment. Then he gave a sharp cry, and all the other warriors
sprang up. But three of them rose only to fall again, as the
rifles cracked in the bushes, while two others staggered from
wounds.
The triumphant shout of the frontiersmen came from the thicket,
and then they rushed upon the camp. Quick as a flash two of the
Senecas started toward the woman and children with their
tomahawks, but Mary Newton was ready. Her heart had leaped at
the shots when the Senecas fell, and she kept her courage. Now
she sprang to her full height, and, with the children screaming
at her feet, fired one barrel of the pistol directly into the
face of the first warrior, and served the second in the same way
with the other barrel when he was less than four feet away.
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