hands of Heaven."

CHAPTER TWELVE: CONCLUSION

The point, at last, had been reached where it was useless to struggle
any longer. The little party of fugitives, after safely crossing the
Susquehanna on the day of the battle, and penetrating more than a score
of miles on their way eastward to the Delaware, were overtaken, and made
captive by three Indians.

Warning Ben against any resistance, the mother bowed her head in
submission, and awaited her fate. Only once, when she clasped her arm
around the awed and silent Alice, laying the other affectionately upon
the shoulder of her brave son, did she speak--"Murmur not at the will of
Heaven."

The Seneca was surprised at the action, or, rather, want of action, on
the part of the captives. Receiving no response to his salutation, he
stood a moment in silence, and then emitted a tremulous whoop. It was
a signal for Red Wolf and the other Seneca. They understood it, and
hurried to the spot, with Linna close behind them.

It would have been expected that she would indulge in some outburst when
she saw how ill everything had gone; but, with one grieved look, she
went up to the sorrowing, weeping mother and buried her head between her
knees.

And then she did what no one of that party had ever before seen her
do--she sobbed with a breaking heart. The mother soothed her as best she
could, uttering words which she heard not.

Ben Ripley when the blow came, stood erect, and folded his arms. His
face was pale, but his lips were mute. Not even by look did he ask for
mercy from their captors.

In the midst of the impressive tableau, Linna suddenly raised her head
from the lap of the mother, her action and attitude showing she had
caught some sound which she recognized.

But everyone else in the party also noted it. It was a shrill,
penetrating whistle, ringing among the forest arches--a call which she
had heard many a time, and she could never mistake its meaning.

Her eyes sparkled through her tears, which wet her cheeks; but she
forgot everything but that signal.

"Dat Omas!--dat Omas--dat fader!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet,
trembling and aglow with excitement.

There was one among the three who, had his painted complexion permitted,
would have turned ashy pale. Red Wolf was afraid that when the fearful
Delaware warrior thundered down on them, he would not give his brother
time to explain matters before sinking his tomahawk into his brain.
Manifestly, the