eagerly at the dense woods and thickets to see
what damage his shot had done. No reply came save a rifle shot, and the
gunner fell dead upon his gun. Paul in the thickets shivered a little,
but he knew that it must be done.

The allied tribes again gave forth a whoop of rage and chagrin, and
Henry from his place in the tree clearly saw Alloway, waving his sword
and encouraging them. "If he would only come a little nearer," grimly
thought the young forest runner, as he reloaded rapidly, "he might by
the loss of his own life save the lives of many others." But Alloway
kept back.

They were now making ready the second cannon, but as the rammer stepped
forward the deadly marksman in the tree reached him with his bullet,
and, falling beside his gun, he lay quite still. Once more the thousand
voices of the warriors joined in a terrible cry of wrath and menace, but
the young forester reloaded calmly, and the sponger, smitten down, fell
beside his comrade.

Long Jim and the shiftless one, who lay side by side, gazed at the tree
in silent admiration. They knew the ability of their comrade as a
sharpshooter, but never before had he been so deadly at such long range.

"They'll hev to draw them cannon back," whispered Shif'less Sol, "or
he'll pick off every one o' the white men that manage 'em."

"Then I hope they won't draw 'em back," said Long Jim.

But Alloway and the chiefs saw the necessity of taking the gun beyond
rifle range, and they withdrew them quickly, although not quickly enough
to keep another of the white men from receiving a painful wound. The
savages discharged a volley from their rifles and muskets, and flights
of arrows were sent into the thickets, but arrows and bullets alike fell
short. Many of the arrows merely reached the river, and Paul found a
curious pleasure in watching these feathered messengers fly through the
air, and then shoot downward into the water, leaving bubbles to tell for
a moment where they had gone.

"They're goin' to shoot them cannon ag'in," said Shif'less Sol, "but
they're puttin' a different kind o' ammunition in 'em."

"It's grape," said Paul.

"What's grape?" asked Long Jim.

"All kinds of metal, slugs and suchlike, that scatter."

"Like a handful uv buckshot, only bigger an' more uv it."

"That describes it."

"Then it 'pears to me that we'd better back water a lot, an' give all
them grape a chance to bust an' fly whar we ain't."

"Words of wisdom, Jim," said Henry,