he light Silas saw that the
lad was so weak he could hardly stand. He was covered with blood. It
dripped from a bandage wound tightly about his arm; it oozed through
a hole in his hunting shirt, and it flowed from a wound over his
temple. The shadow of death was already stealing over the pallid
face, but from the grey eyes shone an indomitable spirit, a spirit
which nothing but death could quench.

"Quick!" the lad panted. "Send men to the south wall. The redskins
are breakin' in where the water from the spring runs under the
fence."

"Where are Metzar and the other men?"

"Dead! Killed last night. I've been there alone all night. I kept on
shootin'. Then I gets plugged here under the chin. Knowin' it's all
up with me I deserted my post when I heard the Injuns choppin' on the
fence where it was on fire last night. But I only--run--because--they're
gettin' in."

"Wetzel, Bennet, Clarke!" yelled Silas, as he laid the boy on the
bench.

Almost as Silas spoke the tall form of the hunter confronted him.
Clarke and the other men were almost as prompt.

"Wetzel, run to the south wall. The Indians are cutting a hole
through the fence."

Wetzel turned, grabbed his rifle and an axe and was gone like a
flash.

"Sullivan, you handle the men here. Bessie, do what you can for this
brave lad. Come, Bennet, Clarke, we must follow Wetzel," commanded
Silas.

Mrs. Zane hastened to the side of the fainting lad. She washed away
the blood from the wound over his temple. She saw that a bullet had
glanced on the bone and that the wound was not deep or dangerous.
She unlaced the hunting shirt at the neck and pulled the flaps
apart. There on the right breast, on a line with the apex of the
lung, was a horrible gaping wound. A murderous British slug had
passed through the lad. From the hole at every heart-beat poured the
dark, crimson life-tide. Mrs. Zane turned her white face away for a
second; then she folded a small piece of linen, pressed it tightly
over the wound, and wrapped a towel round the lad's breast.

"Don't waste time on me. It's all over," he whispered. "Will you
call Betty here a minute?"

Betty came, white-faced and horror-stricken. For forty hours she had
been living in a maze of terror. Her movements had almost become
mechanical. She had almost ceased to hear and feel. But the light in
the eyes of this dying boy brought her back to the horrible reality
of the present.

"Oh, Harry! Harry! Harry!" was all Betty