Wetzel as he watched the orderly marching of the Rangers
and the proud bearing of the Indian warriors. Miller had spoken the
truth. Ft. Henry vas doomed.

"Tige, there's one of them struttin' turkey cocks as won't see the
Ohio," said Wetzel to the dog.

Hurriedly slipping from round his neck the bullet-pouch that Betty
had given him, he shook out a bullet and with the point of his knife
he scratched deep in the soft lead the letter W. Then he cut the
bullet half through. This done he detached the pouch from the cord
and running the cord through the cut in the bullet he bit the lead.
He tied the string round the neck of the dog and pointing eastward
he said: "Home."

The intelligent animal understood perfectly. His duty was to get
that warning home. His clear brown eyes as much as said: "I will not
fail." He wagged his tail, licked the hunter's hand, bounded away
and disappeared in the forest.

Wetzel rested easier in mind. He knew the dog would stop for
nothing, and that he stood a far better chance of reaching the Fort
in safety than did he himself.

With a lurid light in his eyes Wetzel now turned to the Indians. He
would never leave that spot without sending a leaden messenger into
the heart of someone in that camp. Glancing on all sides he at
length selected a place where it was possible he might approach near
enough to the camp to get a shot. He carefully studied the lay of
the ground, the trees, rocks, bushes, grass,--everything that could
help screen him from the keen eye of savage scouts. When he had
marked his course he commenced his perilous descent. In an hour he
had reached the bottom of the cliff. Dropping flat on the ground, he
once more started his snail-like crawl. A stretch of swampy ground,
luxuriant with rushes and saw-grass, made a part of the way easy for
him, though it led through mud, and slime, and stagnant water. Frogs
and turtles warming their backs in the sunshine scampered in alarm
from their logs. Lizards blinked at him. Moccasin snakes darted
wicked forked tongues at him and then glided out of reach of his
tomahawk. The frogs had stopped their deep bass notes. A
swamp-blackbird rose in fright from her nest in the saw-grass, and
twittering plaintively fluttered round and round over the pond. The
flight of the bird worried Wetzel. Such little things as these might
attract the attention of some Indian scout. But he hoped that in the
excitement of the war preparations these unusual distu