d down in all
directions to the prairie. Their view was wide, but in places
obstructed by the trees.

"Men," said Kenton, after a thoughtful and watchful silence, "the thing
looks kind o' squally for us. I don't see much of a chance to get out
of this alive; but we've got to try."

He showed by the density of his voice and a certain gray film in his
face that he felt the awful gravity of the situation; but he was calm
and not a muscle quivered.

"They's jes' two chances for us," said Oncle Jazon, "an' them's as slim
as a broom straw. We've got to stan' here an' fight it out, or wait
till night an' sneak through atween 'em an' run for it."

"I don't see any hope o' sneakin' through the line," observed Kenton.
"It's not goin' to be dark tonight."

"Wa-a-l," Oncle Jazon drawled nonchalantly while he took in a quid of
tobacco, "I've been into tighter squeezes 'an this, many a time, an' I
got out, too."

"Likely enough," said Kenton, still reflecting while his eyes roamed
around the circle of savages.

"I fit the skunks in Ferginny 'fore you's thought of, Si Kenton, an'
down in Car'lina in them hills. If ye think I'm a goin' to be scalped
where they ain't no scalp, 'ithout tryin' a few dodges, yer a dad
dasteder fool an' I used to think ye was, an' that's makin' a big
compliment to ye."

"Well, we don't have to argy this question, Oncle Jazon; they're a
gittin' ready to run in upon us, and we've got to fight. I say,
Beverley, are ye ready for fast shootin'? Have ye got a plenty of
bullets?"

"Yes, Roussillon gave me a hundred. Do you think--"

He was interrupted by a yell that leaped from savage mouth to mouth all
round the circle, and then the charge began.

"Steady, now," growled Kenton, "let's not be in a hurry. Wait till they
come nigh enough to hit 'em before we shoot."

The time was short; for the Indians came on at almost race-horse speed.

Oncle Jazon fired first, the long, keen crack of his small-bore rifle
splitting the air with a suggestion of vicious energy, and a lithe
young warrior, who was outstripping all his fellows, leaped high and
fell paralyzed.

"Can't shoot wo'th a cent," muttered the old man, deftly beginning to
reload his gun the while; "but I jes' happened to hit that buck. He'll
never git my scalp, thet's sartin an' sure."

Beverley and Kenton each likewise dropped an Indian; but the shots did
not even check the rush. Long-Hair had planned to capture his prey, not
kill it. Every