Chapter XVII. The Battle in the Forest

by Joseph A. Altsheler

　　Henry and Ross after their second scouting expedition reportedthat the great war band of the Shawnees was retreating slowly, infact would linger by the way, and might destroy one or twosmaller stations recently founded farther north. Instantly a newimpulse flamed up among the pioneers of Wareville. The feelingof union was strong among all these early settlements, and theybelieved it their duty to protect their weaker brethren. Theywould send hastily to Marlowe the nearest and largest settlementfor help, follow on the trail of the warriors and destroy them.Such a blow, as they might inflict, would spread terror among allthe northwestern tribes and save Kentucky from many another raid.Ross who was present in the council when the eager cry was raisedshook his head and looked more than doubtful.

　　"They outnumber us four or five to one," he said, "an' when we goout in the woods against 'em we give up our advantage, our woodenwalls. They can ambush us out there, an' surround us."

　　Mr. Ware added his cautious words to those of Ross, in whom hehad great confidence. He believed it better to let the savagearmy go. Discouraged by its defeat before the palisades ofWareville it would withdraw beyond the Ohio, and, under anycircumstances, a pursuit, with greatly inferior numbers, would bemost dangerous.

　　These were grave words, but they fell on ears that did not wishto listen. They were an impulsive people and a generous chord intheir natures was touched, the desire to defend those weaker thanthemselves. A good-hearted but hot-headed man named Clinton madea fiery speech. He said that now was the time to strike acrushing blow at the Indian power, and he thought all brave menwould take advantage of it.

　　That expression "brave men" settled the question; no one couldafford to be considered aught else, and a little army pouredforth from Wareville, Mr. Ware nominally in command, and Henry,Paul, Ross, Sol, and all the others there. Henry saw his motherand sister weeping at the palisade, and Lucy Upton standingbeside them. His mother's face was the last that he saw when heplunged into the forest. Then he was again the hunter, thetrailer and the slayer of men.

　　While they considered whether or not to pursue, Henry Ware hadsaid nothing; but all the primitive impulses of man handeddown from lost ages of ceaseless battle were alive within him; hewished them to go, he would show the way, the savage army wouldmake a trail through the forest as plain to him as a turnpike tothe modern dweller in a civilized land, and his heart throbbedwith fierce exultation, when the decision to follow was at lastgiven. In the forest now he was again at home, more so than hehad been inside the palisade. Around him were all the familiarsights and sounds, the little noises of the wilderness that onlythe trained ear hears, the fall of a leaf, or the wind in thegrass, and the odor of a wild flower or a bruised bough.

　　Brain and mind alike expanded. Instinctively he took the lead,not from ambition, but because it was natural; he read all thesigns and he led on with a certainty to which neither Ross norShif'less Sol pretended to aspire. The two guides and hunterswere near each other, and a look passed between them.

　　"I knew it," said Ross; "I knew from the first that he had in himthe making of a great woodsman. You an' I Sol, by the side ofhim, are just beginners."

　　Shif'less Sol nodded in assent.

　　"It's so," he said, "It suits me to follow were he leads, an'since we are goin' after them warriors, which Ican't think a wise thing, I'm mighty glad he's with us."

　　Yet to one experienced in the ways of the wilderness the littlearmy though it numbered less than a hundred men would have seemedformidable enough. Many youths were there, mere boys they wouldhave been back in some safer land, but hardened here by exposureinto the strength and courage of men. Nearly all were dressed infinely tanned deerskin, hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins,fringes on hunting shirt and leggings, and beads on moccasins.The sun glinted on the long slender, blue steel barrel of theWestern rifle, carried in the hand of every man. At the beltswung knife and hatchet, and the eyes of all, now that thepursuit had begun, were intense, eager and fierce.

　　The sounds made by the little Western army, hid under the leafyboughs of the forest, gradually died away to almost nothing. Noone spoke, save at rare intervals. The moccasins were soundlesson the soft turf, and there was no rattle of arms, although armswere always ready. In front was Henry Ware, scanning the trail,telling with an infallible eye how old it was, where the enemyhad lingered, and where he-hid hastened.

　　Mr. Pennypacker was there beside Paul Cotter. A man of peace hewas, but when war came he never failed to take his part in it.

　　"Do you know him?" he asked of Paul, nodding toward Henry.

　　Paul understood.

　　"No," he replied, "I do not. He used to be my old partner, HenryWare, but he's another now."

　　"Yes, he's changed," said the master, "but I am not surprised. Iforesaw it long ago, if the circumstances came right."

　　On the second morning they were joined by the men from Marlowewho had been traveling up one side of a triangle, while the menof Wareville had been traveling up the other side, until they metat the point. Their members were now raised to a hundred andfifty, and, uttering one shout of joy, the united forces plungedforward on the trail with renewed zeal.

　　They were in dense forest, in a region scarcely known even to thehunters, full of little valleys and narrow deep streams. TheIndian force had suddenly taken a sharp turn to the westward, andthe knowledge of it filled the minds of Ross and Sol withmisgivings.

　　"Maybe they know we're following 'em," said Ross; "an' for thatreason they're turnin' into this rough country, which is justfull of ambushes. If it wasn 't for bein' called a coward bythem hot-heads I'd say it was time for us to wheel right about onour own tracks, an' go home."

　　"You can't do nothin' with 'em," said Sol, "they wouldn't standwithout hitchin', an' we ain't got any way to hitch 'em. There'sgoin' to be a scrimmage that people'll talk about for twentyyears, an' the best you an' me can do, Tom, is to be sure to keepsteady and to aim true."

　　Ross nodded sadly and said no more. He looked down at the trail,which was growing fresher and fresher.

　　"They're slowin' up, Sol," he said at last, "I think they'rewaitin' for us. You spread out to the right and I'll go to theleft to watch ag'in ambush. That boy, Henry Ware'll seeeverything in front."

　　In view of the freshening trail Mr. Ware ordered the little armyto stop for a few moments and consider, and all, except thescouts on the flanks and in front, gathered in council. Beforethem and all around them lay the hills, steep and rocky butclothed from base to crest with dense forest and undergrowth.Farther on were other and higher hills, and in the distance theforests looked blue. Nothing about them stirred. They hadsighted no game as they passed; the deer had already fled beforethe Indian army.

　　The skies, bright and blue in the morning, were now overcast, adull, somber, threatening gray.

　　"Men," said Mr. Ware, and there was a deep gravity in his tone,as became a general on the eve of conflict, "I think we shall beon the enemy soon or he will be on us. There were many among uswho did not approve of this pursuit, but here we are. It is notnecessary to say that we should bear ourselves bravely. If wefail and fall, our women and children are back there, and nothingwill stand between them and savages who know no mercy. That isall you have to remember."

　　And then a little silence fell upon everyone, suddenly thehot-heads realized what they had done. They had gone away fromtheir wooden walls, deep into the unknown wilderness, to meet anenemy four or five times their numbers, and skilled in all thewiles and tricks of the forest. Every face was grave, but theknowledge of danger only strengthened them for the conflict. Hotblood became cool and cautious, and wary eyes searched thethickets everywhere. Rash and impetuous they may have been; butthey were ready now to redeem themselves, with the valor, withoutwhich the border could not have been won.

　　Henry Ware had suddenly gone forward from the others, and thegreen forest swallowed him up, but every nerve and muscle of himwas now ready and alert. He felt, rather than saw, that theenemy was at hand; and in his green buckskin he blended socompletely with the forest that only the keenest sight could havepicked him from the mass of foliage. His general's eye told him,too, that the place before them was made for a conflict whichwould favor the superior numbers. They had been coming up agorge, and if beaten they would be crowded back in it upon eachother, hindering the escape of one another, until they were cutto pieces.

　　The wild youth smiled; he knew the bravery of the men with him,and now their dire necessity and the thought of those left behindin the two villages would nerve them to fight. In his daringmind the battle was not yet lost.

　　A faint, indefinable odor met his nostrils, and he knew it to bethe oil and paint of Indian braves. A deep red flushed throughthe brown of either cheek. Returning now to his own kind he wasits more ardent partisan because of the revulsion, and the Indianscent offended him. He looked down and saw a bit of feather,dropped no' doubt from some defiant scalp lock. He picked it up,held it to his nose a moment, and then, when the offensive odorassailed him again, he cast it away.

　　Another dozen steps forward, and he sank down in a clump ofgrass, blending perfectly with the green, and absolutelymotionless. Thirty yards away two Shawnee warriors in all thesavage glory of their war paint, naked save for breechcloths,were passing, examining the woods with careful eye. Yet they didnot see Henry Ware, and, when they turned and went back, hefollowed noiselessly after them, his figure still hidden in thegreen wood.

　　The two Shawnees, walking lightly, went on up the valley whichbroadened out as they advanced, but which was still thicklyclothed in forest and undergrowth. Skilled as they were in theforest, they probably never dreamed of the enemy who hung ontheir trail with a skill surpassing their own.

　　Henry followed them for a full two miles, and then he saw themjoin a group of Indians under the trees, whom he knew by theirdress and bearing to be chiefs. They were tall, middle-aged, andthey wore blankets of green or dark blue, probably bought at theBritish outposts. Behind them, almost hidden in the forest,Henry saw many other dark faces, eager, intense, waiting to belet loose on the foe, whom they regarded as already in the trap.

　　Henry waited, while the two scouts whom he had followed so welldelivered to the chief their message. He saw them beckon to thewarriors behind them, speak a few words to them, and then he sawtwo savage forces slip off in the forest, one to the right andone to the left. On the instant he divined their purpose. Theywere to flank the little white army, while another division stoodready to attack in front. Then the ambush would be complete, andHenry saw the skill of the savage general whoever he might be.

　　The plan must be frustrated at once, and Henry Ware neverhesitated. He must bring on the battle, before his own peoplewere surrounded, and raising his rifle he fired with deadly aimat one of the chiefs who fell on the grass. Then the youthraised the wild and thrilling cry, which he had learned from thesavages themselves, and sped back toward the white force.

　　The death cry of the Shawnee and the hostile war whoop rangtogether filling the forest and telling that the end of stealthand cunning, and the beginning of open battle were at hand.

　　Henry Ware was hidden in an instant by the green foliage from thesight of the Shawnees. Keen as were their eyes, trained as theywere to noticing everything that moved in the forest, he hadvanished from them like a ghost. But they knew that the enemywhom they had sought to draw into their snare had slipped hishead out of it before the snare could be sprung. Their longpiercing yell rose again and then died away in a frightfulquaver. As the last terrible note sank the whole savage armyrushed forward to destroy its foe.

　　As Henry Ware ran swiftly back to his friends he met both Rossand Sol, drawn by the shot and the shouts.

　　"It was you who fired?" asked Ross.

　　"Yes," replied Henry," they meant to lay an ambush, but they willnot have time for it now."

　　The three stood for a few moments under the boughs of a tree,three types of the daring men who guided and protected the van ofthe white movement into the wilderness. They were eager, intent,listening, bent slightly forward, their rifles lying in thehollow of their arms, ready for instant use.

　　After the second long cry the savage army gave voice no more. Inall the dense thickets a deadly silence reigned, save for thetrained car. But to the acute hearing of the three under thetree came sounds that they knew; sounds as light as the patter offalling nuts, no more, perhaps, than the rustle of dead leavesdriven against each other by a wind; but they knew.

　　"They are coming, and coming fast," said Henry. "We must jointhe main force now."

　　"They ought to be ready. That warning of yours was enough," saidRoss.

　　Without another word they turned again, darted among the trees,and in a few moments reached the little white force. Mr. Ware,the nominal leader, taking alarm from the shot and cries, wasalready disposing his men in a long, scattering line behindhillocks, tree trunks, brushwood and every protection that theground offered.

　　"Good!" exclaimed Ross, when he saw, "but we must make our linelonger and thinner, we must never let them get around us, an'it's lucky now we've got steep hills on either side."

　　To be flanked in Indian battle by superior numbers was the mostterrible thing that could happen to the pioneers, and Mr. Warestretched out his line longer and longer, and thinner andthinner. Paul Cotter was full of excitement; he had been indeadly conflict once before, but his was a most sensitivetemperament, terribly stirred by a foe whom he could yet neithersee nor hear. Almost unconsciously, he placed himself by theside of Henry Ware, his old partner, to whom he now looked up asa son of battle and the very personification of forest skill.

　　"Are they really there, Henry?" he asked. "I see nothing andhear nothing."

　　"Yes," replied Henry, "they are in front of us scarcely a rifleshot away, five to our one."

　　Paul strained his eyes, but still he could see nothing, only thegreen waving forest, the patches of undergrowth, the rocks on thesteep hills to right and left, and the placid blue sky overhead.It did not seem possible to him that they were about to enterinto a struggle for life and for those dearer than life.

　　"Don't shoot wild, Paul," said Henry. "Don't pull the trigger,until you can look down the sights at a vital spot."

　　A few feet away from them, peering over a log and with his rifleever thrust forward was Mr. Pennypacker, a schoolmaster, agraduate of a college, an educated and refined man, but bearinghis part in the dark and terrible wilderness conflict that oftenleft no wounded.

　　The stillness was now so deep that even the scouts could hear nosound in front. The savage army seemed to have melted away, intothe air itself, and for full five minutes they lay, waiting,waiting, always waiting for something that they knew would come.Then rose the fierce quavering war cry poured from hundreds ofthroats, and the savage horde, springing out of the forests andthickets, rushed upon them.

　　Dark faces showed in the sunlight, brown figures, naked save forthe breechcloth, horribly painted, muscles tense, flashed throughthe undergrowth. The wild yell that rose and fell withoutceasing ran off in distant echoes among the hills. The riflemenof Kentucky, lying behind trees and hillocks, began to fire, notin volleys, not by order, but each man according to his judgmentand his aim, and many a bullet flew true.

　　A sharp crackling sound, ominous and deadly, ran back and forthin the forest. Little spurts of fire burned for a moment againstthe green, and then went out, to give place to others. Jets ofwhite smoke rose languidly and floated up among the trees,gathering by and by into a cloud, shot through with blue andyellow tints from sky and sun.

　　Henry Ware fired with deadly aim and reloaded with astonishingspeed. Paul Cotter, by his side, was is steady as a rock, nowthat the suspense was over, and the battle upon them. Theschoolmaster resting on one elbow was firing across his log.But it is not Indian tactics to charge home, unless the enemy isfrightened into flight by the war whoop and the first rush. Themen of Wareville and Marlowe did not run, but stood fast, sendingthe bullets straight to the mark; and suddenly the Shawneesdropped down among the trees and undergrowth, their bodieshidden, and began to creep forward, firing like sharpshooters.It was now a test of skill, of eyesight, of hearing and of aim.

　　The forest on either side was filled with creeping forms, whiteor red, men with burning eyes seeking to slay each other, meetingin strife more terrible than that of foes who encounter eachother in open conflict.

　　There was something snakelike in their deadly creeping, only themoving grass to tell where they passed and sometimes where bothwhite and red died, locked fast in the grip of one another.Everywhere it was a combat, confused, dreadful, man to man, andwith no shouting now, only the crack of the rifle shot, the whizof the tomahawk, the thud of the knife, and choked cries.

　　Like breeds like, and the white men came down to the level of thered. Knowing that they would receive no quarter they gave none.The white face expressed all the cunning, and all the deadlyanimosity of the red. Led by Henry Ware, Ross and Sol theypracticed every device of forest warfare known to the Shawnees,and their line, which extended across the valley from hill tohill, spurted death from tree, bush, and rock.

　　To Paul Cotter it was all a nightmare, a foul dream, unreal. Heobeyed his comrade's injunctions, he lay close to the earth, andhe did not fire until he could draw a bead on a bare breast, butthe work became mechanical with him. He was a high-strung lad ofdelicate sensibilities. There was in his temperament somethingof the poet and the artist, and nothing of the soldier who fightsfor the sake of mere fighting. The wilderness appealed to him,because of its glory, but the savage appealed to him not at all.

　　In Henry's bosom there was respect for his red foes from whom hehad learned so many useful lessons, and his heart beat fasterwith the thrill of strenuous conflict, but Paul was anxious forthe end of it all. The sight of dead faces near him, not thelack of courage, more than once made him faint and dizzy.

　　Twice and thrice the Shawnees tried to scale the steep hillsides,and with their superior numbers swing around behind the enemy,but the lines of the borderers were always extended to meet them,and the bullets from the long-barreled rifles cut down everyonewho tried to pass. It was always Henry Ware who was first to seea new movement, his eyes read every new motion in the grass, andfoliage swaying in a new direction would always tell him what itmeant. More than one of his comrades muttered to himself that hewas worth a dozen men that day.

　　So fierce were the combatants, so eager were they for eachother's blood that they did not notice that the sky, gray in themorning, then blue at the opening of battle, had now grown leadenand somber again. The leaves above them were motionless and thenbegan to rustle dully in a raw wet wind out of the north. Thesun was quite gone behind the clouds and drops of cold rain beganto fall, falling on the upturned faces of the dead, red and whitealike with just impartiality, the wind rose, whistled, and drovethe cold drops before it like hail. But the combat still swayedback and forth in the leaden forest, and neither side tooknotice.

　　Mr. Ware remained near the center of the white line, and retainedcommand, although he gave but few orders, every man fighting forhimself and giving his own orders. But from time to time Rossand Sol or Henry brought him news of the conflict, perhaps howthey had been driven back a little at one point, and perhaps howthey gained a little at another point. He, too, a man of fiftyand the head of a community, shared the emotions of those aroundhim, and was filled with a furious zeal for the conflict.

　　The clouds thickened and darkened, and the cold drops were drivenupon them by the wind, the rifle smoke, held down by the rain,made sodden banks of vapor among the trees; but through all theclouds of vapor burst flashes of fire, and the occasionaltriumphant shout or death cry of the white man or the savage.

　　Henry Ware looked up and he became conscious that not only cloudsabove were bringing the darkness, but that the day was waning.In the west a faint tint of red and yellow, barely discerniblethrough the grayness, marked the sinking sun, and in the east theblackness of night was still advancing. Yet the conflict, asimportant to those engaged in it, as a great battle betweencivilized foes a hundred thousand on a side, and far more fierce,yet hung on an even chance. The white men still stood where theyhad stood when the forest battle began, and the red men who hadnot been able to advance would not retreat.

　　Henry's heart sank a little at the signs that night was coming;it would be harder in the darkness to keep their forces in touch,and the superior numbers of the Shawnees would swarm all aboutthem. It seemed to him that it would be best to withdraw alittle to more open ground; but he waited a while, because he didnot wish any of their movements to have the color of retreat.Moreover, the activity of the Shawnees rose just then to a higherpitch.

　　Figures were now invisible in the chill, wet dusk, fifty or sixtyyards away, and the two lines came closer. The keenest eye couldsee nothing save flitting forms like phantoms, but the riflemen,trained to quickness, fired at them and more than once sent afatal bullet. There were two lines of fire facing each other inthe dark wood. The flashes showed red or yellow in the twilightor the falling rain, and the Indian yell of triumph whenever itarose, echoed, weird and terrible, through the dripping forest.Henry stole to the side of his father.

　　"We must fall back," he said, "or in the darkness of the night,they will be sure to surround us and crush us."

　　Ross was an able second to this advice, and reluctantly Mr. Warepassed alone the word to retreat.

　　"Be sure to bring off all the wounded," was the order. "Thedead, alas must be abandoned to nameless indignities!"

　　The little white army left thirty dead in the dripping forest,and, as many more carried wounds, the most of which were curable,but it was as full of fight as ever. It merely drew back toprotect itself against being flanked in the forest, and the facesof the borderers, sullen and determined, were still turned to theenemy.

　　Yet the line of fire was visibly retreating, and, when theShawnee forces saw it, a triumphant yell was poured from hundredsof throats. They rushed forward, only to be driven back again bythe hail of bullets, and Ross said to Mr. Ware: "I guess weburned their faces then."

　　"Look to the wounded! Look to the wounded!" repeated Mr. Ware."See that no man too weak is left to help himself."

　　They had gone half a mile when Henry glanced around for Paul.His eyes, trained to the darkness, ran over the dim forms abouthim. Many were limping and others already had arms in slingsmade from their hunting shirts, but Henry nowhere saw the figureof his old comrade. A fever of fear assailed him. One of twothings had happened. Paul was either killed or too badly woundedto walk, and somehow in the darkness they had missed him. Theschoolmaster's face blanched at the news. Paul had been hisfavorite pupil.

　　"My God!" he groaned, "to think of the poor lad in the hands ofthose devils!"

　　Henry Ware stood beside the master, when he uttered these words,wrenched by despair from the very bottom of his chest. Pain shotthrough his own heart, as if it had been touched by a knife.Paul, the well beloved comrade of his youth, captured andsubjected to the torture! His blood turned to ice in his veins.How could they ever have missed the boy? Paul now seemed toHenry at least ten years younger than himself. It was not merelythe fault of a single man, it was the fault of them all. Hestared back into the thickening darkness, where the flashes offlame burst now and then, and, in an instant, he had taken hisresolve.

　　"I do not know where Paul is," he said, "but I shall find him."

　　"Henry! Henry! What are you going to do?" cried his father inalarm.

　　"I'm going back after him," replied his son.

　　"But you can do nothing! It is sure death! Have we just foundyou to lose you again?"

　　Henry touched his father's hand. It was an act of tenderness,coming from his stoical nature, and the next instant he was gone,amid the smoke and the vapors and the darkness, toward the Indianarmy. Mr. Ware put his face in his hands and groaned, but thehand of Ross fell upon his shoulder.

　　"The boy will come back, Mr. Ware," said the guide, "an' willbring the other with him, too. God has given him a woods cunnin'that none of us can match."

　　Mr. Ware let his hands fall, and became the man again. Theretreating force still fell back slowly, firing steadily by theflashes at the pursuing foe.

　　Henry Ware had not gone more than fifty yards before he wascompletely hidden from his friends. Then he turned to a savage,at least in appearance. He threw off the raccoon-skin cap andhunting shirt, drew up his hair in the scalp lock, tying it therewith a piece of fringe from his discarded hunting shirt, and thenturned off at an angle into the woods. Presently he beheld thedark figures of the Shawnees, springing from tree to tree or bentlow in the undergrowth, but all following eagerly. When he sawthem he too bent over and fired toward his own comrades, then hewhirled again to the right, and sprang about as if he wereseeking another target. To all appearances, he was, in thedarkness and driving rain, a true Shawnee, and the manner andgesture of an Indian were second nature to him.

　　But he had little fear of being discovered at such a time. Hissole thought was to find his comrade. All the old days of boyishcompanionship rushed upon him, with their memories. Thetenderness in his nature was the stronger, because of its longrepression. He would find him and if he were alive, he wouldsave him; moreover he had what he thought was a clew. He hadremembered seeing Paul crouched behind a log, firing at theenemy, and no one had seen him afterwards. He believed that theboy was lying there yet, slain, or, if fate were kinder, toobadly wounded to move. The line of retreat had slanted somewhatfrom the spot, and the savages might well have passed, in thedark, without noticing the boy's fallen body.

　　His own sense of direction was perfect, and he edged swiftly awaytoward the fallen log, behind which Paul had lain. Many darkforms passed him, but none sought to stop him; the counterfeitwas too good; all thought him one of themselves.

　　Presently Henry passed no more of the flitting warriors. Thebattle was moving on toward the south and was now behind him. Helooked back and saw the flashes growing fainter and heard thescattering rifle shots, deadened somewhat by the distance.Around him was the beat of the rain on the leaves and the soddenearth, and he looked up at a sky, wholly hidden by black clouds.

　　He would need all his forest lore, and all the primitiveinstincts, handed down from far-off ancestors. But never werethey more keenly alive than on this night.

　　The boy did not veer from the way, but merely by the sense ofdirection took a straight path toward the fallen log that heremembered. The din of battle still rolled slowly off toward thesouth, and, for the moment, he forgot it. He came to the log,bent down and touched a cold face. It was Paul. Instinctivelyhis hand moved toward the boy's head and when it touched thethick brown hair and nothing else, he uttered a little shudderingsigh of relief. Dead or alive, the hideous Indian trophy had notbeen taken. Then he found the boy's wrist and his pulse, whichwas still beating faintly. The deft hands moved on, and touchedthe wound, made by a bullet that had passed entirely through hisshoulder. Paul had fainted from loss of blood, and without thecoming of help would surely have been dead in another hour.

　　The boy lay on his side, and, in some convulsion as he lostconsciousness, he had drawn his arm about his head. Henry turnedhim over until the cold reviving rain fell full upon his face,and then, raising himself again, he listened intently. Thebattle was still moving on to the southward, but very slowly, andstray warriors might yet pass and see them. The tie offriendship is strong, and as he had come to save Paul and as hehad found him too, he did not mean to be stopped now.

　　He stooped down and chafed the wounded youth's wrists andtemples, while the rain with its vivifying touch still drove uponhis face. Paul stirred and his pulse grew stronger. He openedhis eyes catching one vague glimpse of the anxious face abovehim, but he was so feeble that the lids closed down again. ButHenry was cheered. Paul was not only alive, he was growingstronger, and, bending down, he lifted him in his powerful arms.Then he strode away in the darkness, intending to pass in a curvearound the hostile army. Despite Paul's weight he was able alsoto keep his rifle ready, because none knew better than he thatall the chances favored his meeting with one warrior or morebefore the curve was made. But he was instinct with strengthboth mental and physical, he was the true type of the borderer,the men who faced with sturdy heart the vast dangers of thewilderness, the known and the unknown. At that moment he was athis highest pitch of courage and skill, alone in the darkness andstorm, surrounded by the danger of death and worse, yet ready torisk everything for the sake of the boy with whom he had played.

　　He heard nothing but the patter of the distant firing, and allaround him was the gloom, of a night, dark to intensity. Therain poured steadily out of a sky that did not contain a singlestar. Paul stirred occasionally on his shoulder, as he advanced,swiftly, picking his way through the forest and the undergrowth.A half mile forward and his ears caught a light footstep. In aninstant he sank down with his burden, and as he did so he caughtsight of an Indian warrior, not twenty feet away. The Shawneesaw him at the same time, and he, too, dropped down in theundergrowth.

　　Henry did not then feel the lust of blood. He would have beenwilling to pass on, and leave the Shawnee to himself; but he knewthat the Shawnee would not leave him. He laid Paul upon hisback, in order that the rain might beat upon his face, and thencrouched beside him, absolutely motionless, but missing nothingthat the keenest eye or ear might detect. It was a contest ofpatience, and the white youth brought to bear upon it both thered man's training and his own.

　　A half hour passed, and within that small area there was no soundbut the beat of the rain on the warrior leaves and the stickyearth. Perhaps, he thought, he had been deceived; it was merelyan illusion of the night that he thought he saw; or if he hadseen anyone the man was now gone, creeping away through theundergrowth. He stirred among his own bushes, raised up a littleto see, and gave his enemy a passing glimpse of his face. Butit was enough; a rifle bullet struck him between the eyes and thewilderness fighter lay dead in the forest.

　　Henry bestowed not a thought on the slain warrior, but, liftingup Paul once more, continued on his wide curve, as if nothing hadhappened. No one interrupted him again, and after a while he wasparallel with the line of fire. Then he passed around it andcame to rocky ground, where he laid Paul down and chafed hishands and face. The wounded boy opened his eyes again, and, withreturning strength, was now able to keep them open.

　　"Henry!" he said in a vague whisper.

　　"Yes, Paul, it is I," Henry replied quietly.

　　Paul lay still and struggled with memory. The in was nowceasing, and a few shafts of moonlight, piercing through theclouds, threw silver rays on the forest.

　　"The battle!" said Paul at last. "I was firing and somethingstruck me. That was the last I remember."

　　He paused and his face suddenly brightened. He cast a look ofgratitude at his comrade.

　　"You came for me?" he said.

　　"Yes," replied Henry, "I came for you, and I brought you here."

　　Paul closed his eyes, lay still, and then at a ghastly thought,opened his eyes again.

　　"Are only we two left?" he asked. "Are all the others killed?Is that why we are hiding here in the forest?"

　　"No," replied Henry, "we are holding them off, but we decidedthat it was wiser to retreat. We shall join our own people inthe morning."

　　Paul said no more, and Henry sheltered him as best he could underthe trees. The wet clothing he could not replace, and that wouldhave to be endured. But he rubbed his body to keep him warm andto induce circulation. The night was now far advanced, and thedistant firing became spasmodic and faint. After a while itceased, and the weary combatants lay on their arms in thethickets.

　　The clouds began to float off to the eastward. By and by allwent down under the horizon, and the sky sprang out, a solid domeof calm, untroubled blue, in which the stars in myriads twinkledand shone. A moon of unusual splendor bathed the wet forest in asilver dew.

　　Henry sat in the moonlight, watching beside Paul, who dozed orfell into a stupor. The moonlight passed, the darkest hours cameand then up shot the dawn, bathing a green world in the mingledglory of red and gold. Henry raised Paul again, and started withhim toward the thickets, where he knew the little white army lay.

　　John Ware had borne himself that night like a man, else he wouldnot have been in the place that he held. But his heart hadfollowed his son, when he turned back toward the savage army,and, despite the reassuring words of Ross, he already mourned himas one dead. Yet he was faithful to his greater duty,remembering the little force that he led and the women andchildren back there, of whom they were the chief and almost thesole defenders. But if he reached Wareville again how could hetell the tale of his loss? There was one to whom no excuse wouldseem good. Often Mr. Pennypacker was by his side, and when thedarkness began to thin away before the moonlight these two menexchanged sad glances. Each understood what was in the heart ofthe other, but neither spoke.

　　The hours of night and combat dragged heavily. When the waningfire of the savages ceased they let their own cease also, andthen sought ground upon which they might resist any new attack,made in the daylight. They found it at last in a rocky regionthat doubled the powers of the defense. Ross was openlyexultant.

　　"We scorched 'em good yesterday an' to-night," he said, "an' ifthey come again in the day we'll just bum their faces away."

　　Most of the men, worn to the bone, sank down to sleep on the wetground in their wet clothes, while the others watched, and thefew hours, left before the morning, passed peacefully away.

　　At the first sunlight the men were awakened, and all ate coldfood which they carried in their knapsacks. Mr. Ware and theschoolmaster sat apart. Mr. Ware looked steadily at the groundand the schoolmaster, whose heart was wrenched both with his owngrief and his friend's, knew not what to say. Neither did Rossnor Sol disturb them for the moment, but busied themselves withpreparations for the new defense.

　　Mr. Pennypacker was gazing toward the southwest and suddenly onthe crest of a low ridge a black and formless object appearedbetween him and the sun. At first he thought it was a mote inhis eye, and he rubbed the pupils but the mote grew larger, andthen he looked with a new and stronger interest. It was a man;no, two men, one carrying the other, and the motion of the manwho bore the other seemed familiar. The master's heart sprang upin his throat, and the blood swelled in a new tide in his veins.His hand fell heavily, but with joy, on the shoulder of Mr. Ware.

　　"Look up! Look up!. " he cried, "and see who is coming!"

　　Mr. Ware looked up and saw his son, with the wounded Paul Cotteron his shoulder, walking into camp. Then-the borderers were apious people-he fell upon his knees and gave thanks. Two hourslater the Shawnees in full force made a last and desperate attackupon the little white army. They ventured into the open, asventure they must to reach the defenders, and they were met bythe terrible fire that never missed. At no time could they passthe deadly hail of bullets, and at last, leaving the groundstrewed with their dead, they fell back into the forest, andthen, breaking into a panic, did not cease fleeing until they hadcrossed the Ohio. Throughout the morning Henry Ware was one ofthe deadliest sharpshooters of them all, while Paul Cotter laysafely in the rear, and fretted because his wound would not lethim do his part.

　　The great victory won, it was agreed that Henry Ware had done thebest of them all, but they spent little time in congratulations.They preferred the sacred duty of burying the dead, even seekingthose who had fallen in the forest the night before; and thenthey began their march southward, the more severely woundedcarried on rude litters at first, but as they gained strengthafter a while walking, though lamely. Paul recovered fast, andwhen he heard the story, he looked upon Henry as a knight, theequal of any who ever rode down the pages of chivalry.

　　But all alike carried in their hearts the consciousness that theyhad struck a mighty blow that would grant life to the growingsettlements, and, despite their sadly thinned ranks, they werefull of a pride that needed no words. The men of Wareville andthe men of Marlowe parted at the appointed place, and then eachforce went home with the news of victory.