king, gurgling sound
as the blood spurted from his throat. Wetzel pulled the weapon from
the body of his victim, and with the same motion he swung it around.
This time the blunt end met the next Indian's head with a thud like
that made by the butcher when he strikes the bullock to the ground.
The Indian's rifle dropped, his tomahawk flew into the air, while
his body rolled down the little embankment into the spring. Another
and another Indian met the same fate. Then two Indians endeavored to
get through the aperture. The awful axe swung by those steel arms,
dispatched both of than in the twinkling of an eye. Their bodies
stuck in the hole.

Silas and Alfred stood riveted to the spot. Just then Wetzel in all
his horrible glory was a sight to freeze the marrow of any man. He
had cast aside his hunting shirt in that run to the fence and was
now stripped to the waist. He was covered with blood. The muscles of
his broad back and his brawny arms swelled and rippled under the
brown skin. At every swing of the gory axe he let out a yell the
like of which had never before been heard by the white men. It was
the hunter's mad yell of revenge. In his thirst for vengeance he had
forgotten that he was defending the Fort with its women and its
children; he was fighting because he loved to kill.

Silas Zane heard the increasing clamor outside and knew that
hundreds of Indians were being drawn to the spot. Something must be
done at once. He looked around and his eyes fell on a pile of
white-oak logs that had been hauled inside the Fort. They had been
placed there by Col. Zane, with wise forethought. Silas grabbed
Clarke and pulled him toward the pile of logs, at the same time
communicating his plan. Together they carried a log to the fence and
dropped it in front of the hole. Wetzel immediately stepped on it
and took a vicious swing at an Indian who was trying to poke his
rifle sideways through the hole. This Indian had discharged his
weapon twice. While Wetzel held the Indians at bay, Silas and Clarke
piled the logs one upon another, until the hole was closed. This
effectually fortified and barricaded the weak place in the stockade
fence. The settlers in the bastions were now pouring such a hot fire
into the ranks of the savage that they were compelled to retreat out
of range.

While Wetzel washed the blood from his arms and his shoulders Silas
and Alfred hurried back to where Bennet had fallen. They expected to
find him dead, and