ans are at their heels!"

CHAPTER FOUR: THE EASTERN SHORE

Young Ben Ripley made a good record on that eventful 3rd of July. He
loaded and fired as steadily as a veteran. The smoke of the guns, the
wild whooping of the Iroquois Indians, the sight of his friends and
neighbors continually dropping to the ground, some of them at his elbow,
the deafening discharge of the rifles--all these and the dreadful
swirl and rush of events dazed him at times; but he kept at it with
a steadiness which caused more than one expression of praise from the
officers nearest him.

All at once he found himself mixed up in the confusion caused by the
attempt to wheel a part of the line to face the flanking assailants, and
the mistake of many that it was an order to retreat.

He did not know what it meant, for it seemed to him that a dozen
officers were shouting conflicting orders at the same moment. A number
of men threw down their guns and made a wild rush to get away, several
falling over each other in the frantic scramble; others bumped together,
and above the din of the conflict sounded the voices of Colonel Butler,
as he rode back and forth through the smoke, begging his troops not to
leave him, and victory would be theirs.

Seeing the hopeless tangle, the Indians swarmed out of the swamp, and
by their savage attack and renewed shouts made the hubbub and confusion
tenfold worse.

Somebody ran so violently against Ben that he was thrown to the ground.
He was on his feet in an instant and turned to see who did it. It was a
soldier fleeing for life from an Iroquois warrior.

Ben raised his gun, took quick aim and pulled the trigger, but no report
followed. He had forgotten his weapon was unloaded.

Other forms obtruded between him and the couple, and he could not see
the result of the pursuit and attack. Despite all he could do, he was
forced back by the panic stricken rush around and against him.

Suddenly a wild cry reached him. An Iroquois with painted face rushed
upon him with uplifted tomahawk, but he was yet several paces away, when
another warrior seized his arm and wrenched him to one side.

"Run--go fast--don't stay!" commanded the Indian that had saved the
youth, furiously motioning to him.

"If my gun were loaded," replied Ben, though his voice was unheard in
the din, "I wouldn't go till I did something more. Helloa! is that you,
Omas?"

It was the Delaware that had turned the assault aside.

A couple of bounds