t this hand tied
up, so that my gun won't be so slippery."

Wetzel was seen stalking from one porthole to another. His fearful
yell sounded above all the others. He seemed to bear a charmed life,
for not a bullet had so much as scratched him. Silas communicated to
him what Sullivan had said. The hunter mounted the ladder and went
up on the roof. Soon he reappeared, descended into the room and ran
into the west end of the block-house. He kneeled before a porthole
through which he pushed the long black barrel of his rifle. Silas
and Sullivan followed him and looked in the direction indicated by
his weapon. It pointed toward the bushy top of a tall poplar tree
which stood on the hill west of the Fort. Presently a little cloud
of white smoke issued from the leafy branches, and it was no sooner
seen than Wetzel's rifle was discharged. There was a great commotion
among the leaves, the branches swayed and thrashed, and then a dark
body plunged downward to strike on the rocky slope of the bluff and
roll swiftly out of sight. The hunter's unnatural yell pealed out.

"Great God! The man's crazy," cried Sullivan, staring at Wetzel's
demon-like face.

"No, no. It's his way," answered Silas.

At that moment the huge frame of Bennet filled up the opening in the
roof and started down the ladder. In one arm he carried the limp
body of a young man. When he reached the floor he laid the body down
and beckoned to Mrs. Zane. Those watching saw that the young man was
Will Martin, and that he was still alive. But it was evident that he
had not long to live. His face had a leaden hue and his eyes were
bright and glassy. Alice, his wife, flung herself on her knees
beside him and tenderly raised the drooping head. No words could
express the agony in her face as she raised it to Mrs. Zane. In it
was a mute appeal, an unutterable prayer for hope. Mrs. Zane turned
sorrowfully to her task. There was no need of her skill here. Alfred
Clarke, who had been ordered to take Martin's place on top of the
block-house, paused a moment in silent sympathy. When he saw that
little hole in the bared chest, from which the blood welled up in an
awful stream, he shuddered and passed on. Betty looked up from her
work and then turned away sick and faint. Her mute lips moved as if
in prayer.

Alice was left alone with her dying husband. She tenderly supported
his head on her bosom, leaned her face against his and kissed the
cold, numb lips. She murmured into h