Chapter VIII. A Change of Tenants

by Joseph A. Altsheler

　　The five were engaged upon one of their most dangerous tasks, tokeep with the Indian army, and yet to keep out of its hands, toobserve what was going on, and to divine what was intended fromwhat they observed. Fortunately it, was early summer, and theweather being very beautiful they could sleep without shelter.Hence they found it convenient to sleep sometimes by daylight,posting a watch always, and to spy upon the Indian camp at night.They saw other reinforcements come for the Indian army,particularly a strong division of Senecas, under two great warchiefs of theirs, Sangerachte and Hiokatoo, and also a body ofTories.

　　Then they saw them go into their last great camp at Tioga,preparatory to their swift descent upon the Wyoming Valley.About four hundred white men, English Canadians and Tories, werepresent, and eight hundred picked warriors of the Six Nationsunder Thayendanegea, besides the little band of Wyandots led bythe resolute Timmendiquas. "Indian" Butler was in generalcommand of the whole, and Queen Esther was the high priestess ofthe Indians, continually making fiery speeches and chanting songsthat made the warriors see red. Upon the rear of thisextraordinary army hung a band of fierce old squaws, from whomevery remnant of mercy and Gentleness had departed.

　　From a high rock overlooking a valley the five saw "Indian"Butler's force start for its final march upon Wyoming. It wascomposed of many diverse elements, and perhaps none morebloodthirsty ever trod the soil of America. In some preliminaryskirmish a son of Queen Esther had been slain, and now her furyknew no limits. She took her place at the very head of the army,whirling her great tomahawk about her head, and neither "Indian"Butler nor Thayendanegea dared to interfere with her in anythinggreat or small.

　　Henry and his comrades, as they left their rock and hastenedtoward the valley of Wyoming, felt that now they were coming intocontact with the great war itself. They had looked upon auniformed enemy for the first time, and they might soon see thecolonial buff and blue of the eastern army. Their heartsthrilled high at new scenes and new dangers.

　　They had gathered at Pittsburgh, and, through the captivity ofthe four in the Iroquois camp, they had some general idea of theWyoming Valley and the direction in which it lay, and, taking onelast look at the savage army, they sped toward it. The time wasthe close, of June, and the foliage was still dark green. It wasa land of low mountain, hill, rich valley, and clear stream, andit was beautiful to every one of the five. Much of their courselay along the Susquehanna, and soon they saw signs of a moreextended cultivation than any that was yet to be witnessed inKentucky. From the brow of a little hill they beheld a field ofgreen, and in another field a man plowing.

　　"That's wheat," said Tom Ross.

　　"But we can't leave the man to plow," said Henry, "or he'llnever harvest that wheat. We'll warn him."

　　The man uttered a cry of alarm as five wild figures burst intohis field. He stopped abruptly, and snatched up a rifle that layacross the plow handles. Neither Henry nor his companionsrealized that their forest garb and long life in the wildernessmade them look more like Indians than white men. But Henry threwup a hand as a sign of peace.

　　"We're white like yourselves," he cried, "and we've come to warnyou! The Iroquois and the Tories are marching into the valley!"

　　The man's face blanched, and he cast a hasty look toward a littlewood, where stood a cabin from which smoke was rising. He couldnot doubt on a near view that these were white like himself, andthe words rang true.

　　"My house is strong," he said, "and I can beat them off. Maybeyou will help me."

　　"We'd help you willingly enough," said Henry, "if this were anyordinary raiding band, but 'Indian' Butler, Brant, and QueenEsther are coming at the head of twelve or fifteen hundred men.How could we hold a house, no matter how thick its walls, againstsuch an army as that? Don't hesitate a moment! Get up what youcan and gallop."

　　The man, a Connecticut settler-Jennings was his name-left hisplow in the furrow, galloped on his horse to his house, mountedhis wife and children on other horses, and, taking only food andclothing, fled to Stroudsburg, where there was a strong fort. Ata later day he gave Henry heartfelt thanks for his warning, assix hours afterward the vanguard of the horde burned his homeand raged because its owner and his family were gone with theirscalps on their own heads.

　　The five were now well into the Wyoming Valley, where theLenni-Lenape, until they were pushed westward by other tribes,had had their village Wy-wa-mieh, which means in their languageWyoming. It was a beautiful valley running twenty miles or morealong the Susquehanna, and about three miles broad. On eitherside rose mountain walls a thousand feet in height, and furtheraway were peaks with mists and vapors around their crests. Thevalley itself blazed in the summer sunshine, and the riversparkled, now in gold, now in silver, as the light changed andfell.

　　More cultivated fields, more houses, generally of stout logs,appeared, and to all that they saw the five bore the fierybeacon. Simon Jennings was not the only man who lived to thankthem for the warning. Others were incredulous, and soon paid theterrible price of unbelief.

　　The five hastened on, and as they went they looked about themwith wondering eyes-there were so many houses, so many cultivatedfields, and so many signs of a numerous population. They hademerged almost for the first time from the wilderness, exceptingtheir memorable visit to New Orleans, although this was a verydifferent region. Long Jim spoke of it.

　　"I think I like it better here than at New Or-leeyuns," he said."We found some nice Frenchmen an' Spaniards down thar, but theground feels firmer under my feet here."

　　"The ground feels firmer," said Paul, who had some of theprescience of the seer, "but the skies are no brighter. Theylook red to me sometimes, Jim."

　　Tom Ross glanced at Paul and shook his head ominously. Awoodsman, he had his superstitions, and Paul's words weighed uponhis mind. He began to fear a great disaster, and his experiencedeye perceived at once the defenseless state of the valley. Heremembered the council of the great Indian force in the deepwoods, and the terrible face of Queen Esther was again beforehim.

　　"These people ought to be in blockhouses, every one uv 'em," hesaid. "It ain't no time to be plowin' land."

　　Yet peace seemed to brood still over the valley. It was a fineriver, beautiful with changing colors. The soil on either sidewas as deep and fertile as that of Kentucky, and the line of themountains cut the sky sharp and clear. Hills and slopes weredark green with foliage.

　　It must have been a gran' huntin' ground once," said Shif'lessSol.

　　The alarm that the five gave spread fast, and other hunters andscouts came in, confirming it. Panic seized the settlers, andthey began to crowd toward Forty Fort on the west side of theriver. Henry and his comrades themselves arrived there towardthe close of evening, just as the sun had set, blood red, behindthe mountains. Some report of them had preceded their coming,and as soon as they had eaten they were summoned to the presenceof Colonel Zebulon Butler, who commanded the military force inthe valley. Singularly enough, he was a cousin of "Indian"Butler, who led the invading army.

　　The five, dressed in deerskin hunting shirts, leggins, andmoccasins, and everyone carrying a rifle, hatchet, and knife,entered a large low room, dimly lighted by some wicks burning intallow. A man of middle years, with a keen New England face, satat a little table, and several others of varying ages stood near.

　　The five knew instinctively that the man at the table wasColonel Butler, and they bowed, but they did not show thefaintest trace of subservience. They had caught suspiciousglances from some of the officers who stood about the commander,and they stiffened at once. Colonel Butler looked involuntarilyat Henry-everybody always took him, without the telling, forleader of the group.

　　"We have had report of you," he said in cool noncommittal tones,"and you have been telling of great Indian councils that you haveseen in the woods. May I ask your name and where you belong?"

　　"My name," replied Henry with dignity, "is Henry Ware, and I comefrom Kentucky. My friends here are Paul Cotter, Solomon Hyde,Tom Ross, and Jim Hart. They, too, come from Kentucky."

　　Several of the men gave the five suspicious glances. Certainlythey were wild enough in appearance, and Kentucky was far away.It would seem strange that new settlers in that far land shouldbe here in Pennsylvania. Henry saw clearly that his story wasdoubted.

　　"Kentucky, you tell me?" said Colonel Butler. "Do you mean tosay you have come all that tremendous distance to warn us of anattack by Indians and Tories?"

　　Several of the others murmured approval, and Henry flushed alittle, but he saw that the commander was not unreasonable. Itwas a time when men might well question the words of strangers.Remembering this, he replied:

　　"No, we did not come from Kentucky just to warn you. In fact, wecame from a point much farther than that. We came from NewOrleans to Pittsburgh with a fleet loaded with supplies for theContinental armies, and commanded by Adam Colfax of NewHampshire."

　　The face of Colonel Butler brightened.

　　"What!" he exclaimed, "you were on that expedition? It seems tome that I recall hearing of great services rendered to it by someindependent scouts."

　　"When we reached Pittsburgh," continued Henry, ""it was our firstintention to go back to Kentucky, but we heard that a great warmovement was in progress to the eastward, and we thought that wewould see what was going on. Four of us have been captives amongthe Iroquois. We know much of their plans, and we know, too,that Timmendiquas, the great chief of the Wyandots, whom wefought along the Ohio, has joined them with a hand of his bestwarriors. We have also seen Thayendanegea, every one of us."

　　"You have seen Brant?" exclaimed Colonel Butler, calling thegreat Mohawk by his white name.

　　"Yes," replied Henry. "We have seen him, and we have also seenthe woman they call Queen Esther. She is continually urging theIndians on."

　　Colonel Butler seemed convinced, and invited them to sit down.He also introduced the officers who were with him, Colonel JohnDurkee, Colonel Nathan Dennison, Lieutenant Colonel GeorgeDorrance, Major John Garrett, Captain Samuel Ransom, CaptainDethrie Hewitt, and some others.

　　"Now, gentlemen, tell us all that you saw," continued ColonelButler courteously." You will pardon so many questions, but wemust be careful. You will see that yourselves. But I am a NewEngland man myself, from Connecticut, and I have met Adam Colfax.I recall now that we have heard of you, also, and we are gratefulfor your coming. Will you and your comrades tell us all that youhave seen and heard?"

　　The five felt a decided change in the atmosphere. They were nolonger possible Tories or renegades, bringing an alarm at onepoint when it should be dreaded at another. The men drew closelyaround them, and listened as the tallow wicks sputtered in thedim room. Henry spoke first, and the others in their turn.Every one of them spoke tersely but vividly in the language ofthe forest. They felt deeply what they had seen, and they drewthe same picture for their listeners. Gradually the faces of theWyoming men became shadowed. This was a formidable tale thatthey were hearing, and they could not doubt its truth.

　　"It is worse than I thought it could be," said Colonel Butler atlast." How many men do you say they have, Mr. Ware?"

　　"Close to fifteen hundred."

　　"All trained warriors and soldiers. And at the best we cannotraise more than three hundreds including old men and boys, andour men, too, are farmers."

　　"But we can beat them. Only give us a chance, Colonel!"exclaimed Captain Ransom.

　　"I'm afraid the chance will come too soon," said Colonel Butler,and then turning to the five: "Help us all you can. We needscouts and riflemen. Come to the fort for any food andammunition you may need."

　　The five gave their most earnest assurances that they would stay,and do all in their power. In fact, they had come for that verypurpose. Satisfied now that Colonel Butler and his officers hadimplicit faith in them they went forth to find that, despite thenight and the darkness, fugitives were already crossing the riverto seek refuge in Forty Fort, bringing with them tales of deathand devastation, some of which were exaggerated, but too manytrue in all their hideous details. Men had been shot and scalpedin the fields, houses were burning, women and children werecaptives for a fate that no one could foretell. Red ruin wasalready stalking down the valley.

　　The farmers were bringing their wives and children in canoes anddugouts across the river. Here and there a torch light flickeredon the surface of the stream, showing the pale faces of the womenand children, too frightened to cry. They had fled in haste,bringing with them only the clothes they wore and maybe a blanketor two. The borderers knew too well what Indian war was, withall its accompaniments of fire and the stake.

　　Henry and his comrades helped nearly all that night. Theysecured a large boat and crossed the river again and again,guarding the fugitives with their rifles, and bringing comfort tomany a timid heart. Indian bands had penetrated far into theWyoming Valley, but they felt sure that none were yet in theneighborhood of Forty Fort.

　　It was about three o'clock in the morning when the last of thefugitives who had yet come was inside Forty Fort, and the laborsof the five, had they so chosen, were over for the time. Buttheir nerves were tuned to so high a pitch, and they felt sopowerfully the presence of danger, that they could not rest, nordid they have any desire for sleep.

　　The boat in which they sat was a good one, with two pairs ofoars. It had been detailed for their service, and they decidedto pull up the river. They thought it possible that they mightsee the advance of the enemy and bring news worth the telling.Long Jim and Tom Ross took the oars, and their powerful arms sentthe boat swiftly along in the shadow of the western bank. Henryand Paul looked back and saw dim lights at the fort and a few oneither shore. The valley, the high mountain wall, and everythingelse were merged in obscurity.

　　Both the youths were oppressed heavily by the sense of danger,not for themselves, but for others. In that Kentucky of theirs,yet so new, few people lived beyond the palisades, but here wererich and scattered settlements; and men, even in the face ofgreat peril, are always loth to abandon the homes that they havebuilt with so much toil.

　　Tom Ross and Long Jim continued to pull steadily with the longstrokes that did not tire them, and the lights of the fort andhouses sank out of sight. Before them lay the somber surface ofthe rippling river, the shadowy hills, and silence. The worldseemed given over to the night save for themselves, but they knewtoo well to trust to such apparent desertion. At such hours theIndian scouts come, and Henry did not doubt that they werealready near, gathering news of their victims for the Indian andTory horde. Therefore, it was the part of his comrades andhimself to use the utmost caution as they passed up the river.

　　They bugged the western shore, where they were shadowed by banksand bushes, and now they went slowly, Long Jim and Tom Rossdrawing their oars so carefully through the water that there wasnever a plash to tell of their passing. Henry was in the prow ofthe boat, bent forward a little, eyes searching the surface ofthe river, and ears intent upon any sound that might pass on thebank. Suddenly he gave a little signal to the rowers and theylet their oars rest.

　　"Bring the boat in closer to the bank," he whispered. Push itgently among those bushes where we cannot be seen from above."

　　Tom and Jim obeyed. The boat slid softly among tall bushes thatshadowed the water, and was hidden completely. Then Henrystepped out, crept cautiously nearly up the bank, which was herevery low, and lay pressed closely against the earth, butsupported by the exposed root of a tree. He had heard voices,those of Indians, he believed, and he wished to see. Peeringthrough a fringe of bushes that lined the bank he saw sevenwarriors and one white face sitting under the boughs of a greatoak. The face was that of Braxton Wyatt, who was now in hiselement, with a better prospect of success than any that he hadever known before. Henry shuddered, and for a moment heregretted that he had spared Wyatt's life when he might havetaken it.

　　But Henry was lying against the bank to hear what these men mightbe saying, not to slay. Two of the warriors, as he saw by theirpaint, were Wyandots, and he understood the Wyandot tongue.Moreover, his slight knowledge of Iroquois came into service, andgradually he gathered the drift of their talk. Two miles nearerForty Fort was a farmhouse one of the Wyandots had seen it-notyet abandoned by its owner, who believed that his proximity toForty Fort assured his safety. He lived there with his wife andfive children, and Wyatt and the Indians planned to raid theplace before daylight and kill them all. Henry had heard enough.He slid back from the bank to the water and crept into the boat.

　　"Pull back down the river as gently as you can," he whispered,"and then I'll tell you."

　　The skilled oarsmen carried the boat without a splash severalhundred yards down the stream, and then Henry told the others ofthe fiendish plan that he had heard.

　　"I know that man," said Shif'less Sol. "His name is Standish. Iwas there nine or ten hours ago, an' I told him it wuz time totake his family an' run. But he knowed more'n I did. Said he'dstay, he wuzn't afraid, an' now he's got to pay the price."

　　"No, he mustn't do that," said Henry. "It's too much to pay forjust being foolish, when everybody is foolish sometimes. Boys,we can yet save that man an' his wife and children. Aren't youwilling to do it?"

　　"Why, course," said Long Jim. "Like ez not Standish will shootat us when we knock on his door, but let's try it."

　　The others nodded assent.

　　"How far back from the river is the Standish house, Sol?" askedHenry.

　　"'Bout three hundred yards, I reckon, and' it ain't more'n a miledown."

　　"Then if we pull with all our might, we won't be too late. Tom,you and Jim give Sol and me the oars now."

　　Henry and the shiftless one were fresh, and they sent the boatshooting down stream, until they stopped at a point indicated bySol. They leaped ashore, drew the boat down the bank, andhastened toward a log house that they saw standing in a clump oftrees. The enemy had not yet come, but as they swiftlyapproached the house a dog ran barking at them. The shiftlessone swung his rifle butt, and the dog fell unconscious.

　　"I hated to do it, but I had to," he murmured. The next momentHenry was knocking at the door.

　　"Up! Up!" he cried, "the Indians are at hand, and you must runfor your lives!"

　　How many a time has that terrible cry been heard on the Americanborder!

　　The sound of a man's voice, startled and angry, came to theirears, and then they heard him at the door.

　　"Who are you?" he cried. "Why are you beating on my door at sucha time?"

　　"We are friends, Mr. Standish," cried Henry, "and if you wouldsave your wife and children you must go at once! Open the door!Open, I say!"

　　The man inside was in a terrible quandary. It was thus thatrenegades or Indians, speaking the white man's tongue, sometimesbade a door to be opened, in order that they might find an easypath to slaughter. But the voice outside was powerfullyinsistent, it had the note of truth; his wife and children,roused, too, were crying out, in alarm. Henry knocked again onthe door and shouted to him in a voice, always increasing inearnestness, to open and flee. Standish could resist no longer.He took down the bar and flung open the door, springing back,startled at the five figures that stood before him. In the duskhe did not remember Shif'less Sol.

　　"Mr. Standish," Henry said, speaking rapidly, "we are, as you cansee, white. You will be attacked here by Indians and renegadeswithin half an hour. We know that, because we heard them talkingfrom the bushes. We have a boat in the river; you can reach itin five minutes. Take your wife and children, and pull for FortyFort."

　　Standish was bewildered.

　　"How do I know that you are not enemies, renegades, yourselves?"he asked.

　　"If we had been that you'd be a dead man already," said Shif'lessSol.

　　It was a grim reply, but it was unanswerable, and Standishrecognized the fact. His wife had felt the truth in the tones ofthe strangers, and was begging him to go. Their children werecrying at visions of the tomahawk and scalping knife now so near.

　　"We'll go," said Standish. "At any rate, it can't do any harm.We'll get a few things together."

　　"Do not wait for anything! "exclaimed Henry. "You haven't aminute to spare! Here are more blankets! Take them and run forthe boat! Sol and Jim, see them on board, and then come back!"

　　Carried away by such fire and earnestness, Standish and hisfamily ran for the boat. Jim and the shiftless one almost threwthem on board, thrust a pair of oars into the bands of Standish,another into the hands of his wife, and then told them to pullwith all their might for the fort.

　　"And you," cried Standish, "what becomes of you?"

　　Then a singular expression passed over his face-he had guessedHenry's plan.

　　"Don't you trouble about us," said the shiftless one. "We willcome later. Now pull! pull!"

　　Standish and his wife swung on the oars, and in two minutes theboat and its occupants were lost in the darkness. Tom Ross andSol did not pause to watch them, but ran swiftly back to thehouse. Henry was at the door.

　　"Come in," he said briefly, and they entered. Then he closed thedoor and dropped the bar into place. Shif'less Sol and Paul werealready inside, one sitting on the chair and the other on theedge of the bed. Some coals, almost hidden under ashes,smoldered and cast a faint light in the room, the only one thatthe house had, although it was divided into two parts by a roughhomespun curtain. Henry opened one of the window shutters alittle and looked out. The dawn had not yet come, but it was nota dark night, and he looked over across the little clearing tothe trees beyond. On that side was a tiny garden, and near thewall of the house some roses were blooming. He could see theglow of pink and red. But no enemy bad yet approached.Searching the clearing carefully with those eyes of his, almostpreternaturally keen, he was confident that the Indians werestill in the woods. He felt an intense thrill of satisfaction atthe success of his plan so far.

　　He was not cruel, he never rejoiced in bloodshed, but theborderer alone knew what the border suffered, and only those whonever saw or felt the torture could turn the other cheek to besmitten. The Standish house had made a sudden and ominous changeof tenants.

　　"It will soon be day," said Henry, "and farmers are early risers.Kindle up that fire a little, will you, Sol? I want some smoketo come out of the chimney."

　　The shiftless one raked away the ashes, and put on two or threepieces of wood that lay on the hearth. Little flames and smokearose. Henry looked curiously about the house. It was the usualcabin of the frontier, although somewhat larger. The bed onwhich Shif'less Sol sat was evidently that of the father andmother, while two large ones behind the curtain were used by thechildren. On the shelf stood a pail half full of drinking water,and by the side of it a tin cup. Dried herbs hung over thefireplace, and two or three chests stood in the corners. Theclothing of the children was scattered about. Unprepared foodfor breakfast stood on a table. Everything told of a hastyflight and its terrible need. Henry was already resolved, buthis heart hardened within him as he saw.

　　He took the hatchet from his belt and cut one of the hooks forthe door bar nearly in two. The others said not a word. Theyhad no need to speak. They understood everything that he did.He opened the window again and looked out. Nothing yet appeared."The dawn will come in three quarters of an hour," he said, "andwe shall not have to wait long for what we want to do."

　　He sat down facing the door. All the others were sitting, andthey, too, faced the door. Everyone had his rifle across hisknees, with one hand upon the hammer. The wood on the hearthsputtered as the fire spread, and the flames grew. Beyond adoubt a thin spire of smoke was rising from the chimney, and awatching eye would see this sign of a peaceful and unsuspectingmind.

　　"I hope Braxton Wyatt will be the first to knock at our door,"said Shif'less Sol.

　　"I wouldn't be sorry," said Henry.

　　Paul was sitting in a chair near the fire, and he said nothing.He hoped the waiting would be very short. The light wassufficient for him to see the faces of his comrades, and henoticed that they were all very tense. This was no common watchthat they kept. Shif'less Sol remained on the bed, Henry sat onanother of the chairs, Tom Ross was on one of the chests with hisback to the wall. Long Jim was near the curtain. Close by Paulwas a home-made cradle. He put down his hand and touched it. Hewas glad that it was empty now, but the sight of it steeled hisheart anew for the task that lay before them.

　　Ten silent minutes passed, and Henry went to the window again.He did not open it, but there was a crack through which he couldsee. The others said nothing, but watched his face. When heturned away they knew that the moment was at hand.

　　"They've just come from the woods," he said, "and in a minutethey'll be at the door. Now, boys, take one last look at yourrifles."

　　A minute later there was a sudden sharp knock at the door, but noanswer came from within. The knock was repeated, sharper andlouder, and Henry, altering his voice as much as possible,exclaimed like one suddenly awakened from sleep:

　　"Who is it? What do you want?"

　　Back came a voice which Henry knew to be that of Braxton Wyatt:

　　"We've come from farther up the valley. We're scouts, we've beenup to the Indian country. We're half starved. Open and give usfood!"

　　"I don't believe you," replied Henry. "Honest people don'tcome to my door at this time in the morning."

　　Then ensued a few moments of silence, although Paul, with hisvivid fancy, thought he heard whispering on the other side of thedoor.

　　"Open!" cried Wyatt, "or we'll break your door down!" Henry saidnothing, nor did any of the others. They did not stir. The firecrackled a little, but there was no other sound in the Standishhouse. Presently they heard a slight noise outside, that oflight feet.

　　"They are going for a log with which to break the door in,"whispered Henry. "They won't have to look far. The wood pileisn't fifty feet away."

　　"An' then," said Shif'less Sol, "they won't have much left to dobut to take the scalps of women an' little children."

　　Every figure in the Standish house stiffened at the shiftlessone's significant words, and the light in the eyes grew sterner.Henry went to the door, put his ear to the line where it joinedthe wall, and listened.

　　"They've got their log," he said, "and in half a minute they'llrush it against the door."

　　He came back to his old position. Paul's heart began to thump,and his thumb fitted itself over the trigger of his cocked rifle.Then they heard rapid feet, a smash, a crash, and the door flewopen. A half dozen Iroquois and a log that they held betweenthem were hurled into the middle of the room. The door had givenaway so easily and unexpectedly that the warriors could not checkthemselves, and two or three fell with the log. But they spranglike cats to their feet, and with their comrades uttered a crythat filled the whole cabin with its terrible sound and import.

　　The Iroquois, keen of eyes and quick of mind, saw the trap atonce. The five grim figures, rifle in hand and finger ontrigger, all waiting silent and motionless were far differentfrom what they expected. Here could be no scalps, with the long,silky hair of women and children.

　　There was a moment's pause, and then the Indians rushed at theirfoes. Five fingers pulled triggers, flame leaped from fivemuzzles, and in an instant the cabin was filled with smoke andwar shouts, but the warriors never had a chance. They could onlystrike blindly with their tomahawks, and in a half minute threeof them, two wounded, rushed through the door and fled to thewoods. They had been preceded already by Braxton Wyatt, who hadhung back craftily while the Iroquois broke down the door.