'They have murdered Mr Wells's family, who were as dear
to me as my own.'

'But,' replied the woman, 'there is one Joseph Brant: if
he is with the Indians, he will save us.'

'I am Joseph Brant,' came the rapid answer, 'but I have
not the command, and I know not that I can save you.'

No sooner had he done speaking than his sharp eye detected
a group of Senecas coming to the house. 'Get into bed
quick,' he said abruptly, 'and feign yourself sick.' The
woman did his bidding, and the Indians when they entered
were completely deceived by her pretence. Then, as they
departed, Brant gave a piercing signal, and some of his
Mohawks gathered into the room. He had called them to
help him save this woman and her family. His mark on them
would, he believed, make them safe even in this time of
general slaughter. He had no colouring matter with him
and he asked the Mohawks to use theirs. With deft fingers
the Indians then placed the chief's own mark upon the
woman and her children in order to protect them.

'You are now probably safe,' said Brant and moved out
again into the smoke of fire and battle.

When the massacre was over, it was found that thirty or
forty settlers had escaped death and had been made
prisoners. From one of these Brant made inquiries respecting
the whereabouts of Captain McKean. He learned that this
officer had taken his family away to the Mohawk valley.

'He sent me a challenge once,' remarked Brant; 'I have
now come to accept it. He is a fine soldier thus to
retreat.'

'Captain McKean,' was the rejoinder, 'would not turn his
back upon an enemy where there was a possibility of
success.'

'I know it,' said Brant, with open generosity. 'He is a
brave man, and I would have given more to take him than
any other man in Cherry Valley. But,' he added, 'I would
not have hurt a hair of his head.'

On the evening of the day of carnage the prisoners were
led down the valley to the loyalist encampment, several
miles to the south of the fort. Fires had been lighted
on every side, and within the extensive range of these
fires the luckless captives were corralled for the night.
But the air was chill, and many who were clothed in scanty
fashion passed the hours of darkness in helpless agony
on the cold, bare ground. During the night the shrill
cries of the Indians, as they gloated over the scene of
their triumph, resounded through the forest. The spoils
were divided among the raiders, and with the dawning o