The whole forest was alive with Indians, but although
from the shelter of the trees they showered arrows upon Smith
none dared approach him to take him. For they knew and dreaded the
terrible fire stick which he held in his hand. Smith fired again
and yet again as he retreated, and more than one Indian fell, never
more to rise. He kept his eyes upon the bushes and trees trying
to catch glimpses of the dusky figures as they skulked among them,
and paid little heed to the path he was taking. So suddenly he
found himself floundering in a quagmire.
Still he fought for dear life, and as long as he held his pistol
no Redman dared come near to take him. But at length, chilled and
wet, and half dead-with cold, unable to go further, he saw it was
useless to resist longer. So he tossed away his pistol. At once
the savages closed in upon and, dragging him out of the quagmire,
led him to their chief.
Smith had given in because he knew that one man stuck in a quagmire
could not hope to keep three hundred Indians long at bay. But he
had sharp wits as well as a steady hand, and with them he still
fought for his life. As soon as he was brought before the chief he
whipped out his compass, and showing it to the chief, explained to
him that it always pointed north, and thus the white men were able
to find their way through the pathless desert.
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