Then came the peculiar twang of Indian bows.

There were showers of sparks and little streaks of fire with long tails like comets winged their parabolic flight toward the cabin.

Falling short they hissed and sputtered in the grass.

Jonathan's rifle spoke and one of the fleeing forms tumbled to the earth.

A series of long yells from all around the Fort greeted this last shot, but not an Indian fired a rifle.
Fire-tipped arrows were now shot at the block-house, but not one took effect, although a few struck the stockade-fence.