It was now about four o'clock in the morning. The thunder and
lightning had ceased, but the soft rain was still falling. The
Indians had lighted fires some distance away. Several carried
torches. Helped by these, and, used so long to the night, the
combatants saw distinctly. The five lay behind a low embankment,
and they paid their whole attention to the big house that
sheltered Wyatt and his men. On the sides and behind they were
protected by Heemskerk and others, who faced a coming swarm.
"Keep low, Paul," said Henry, restraining his eager comrade.
"Those fellows in the house can shoot, and we don't want to lose
you. There, didn't I tell you!"
A bullet fired from the window passed through the top of Paul's
cap, but clipped only his hair. Before the flash from the window
passed, Long Jim fired in return, and something fell back inside.
Bullets came from other windows. Shif'less Sol fired, and a
Seneca fell forward banging half out of the window, his naked
body a glistening brown in the firelight. But he hung only a few
seconds. Then he fell to the ground and lay still. The five
crouched low again, waiting a new opportunity. Behind them, and
on either side, they heard the crash of the new battle and
challenging cries.
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