hat was coming. He had been in the
Captain's house and had seen those kegs of powder. He knew exactly
where they had been. Now they were not on the accustomed shelf, nor
at any other place in the storeroom. While he sat there waiting for
the awful truth to dawn on the garrison, his eyes roved from one end
of the room to the other. At last they found what they were seeking.
A young woman knelt before a charcoal fire which she was blowing
with a bellows. It was Betty. Her face was pale and weary, her hair
dishevelled, her shapely arms blackened with charcoal, but
notwithstanding she looked calm, resolute, self-contained. Lydia was
kneeling by her side holding a bullet-mould on a block of wood.
Betty lifted the ladle from the red coals and poured the hot metal
with a steady hand and an admirable precision. Too much or too
little lead would make an imperfect ball. The little missile had to
be just so for those soft-metal, smooth-bore rifles. Then Lydia
dipped the mould in a bucket of water, removed it and knocked it on
the floor. A small, shiny lead bullet rolled out. She rubbed it with
a greasy rag and then dropped it in a jar. For nearly forty hours,
without sleep or rest, almost without food, those brave girls had
been at their post.

Silas Zane came running into the room. His face was ghastly, even
his lips were white and drawn.

"Sullivan, in God's name, what can we do? The powder is gone!" he
cried in a strident voice.

"Gone?" repeated several voices.

"Gone?" echoed Sullivan. "Where?"

"God knows. I found where the kegs stood a few days ago. There were
marks in the dust. They have been moved."

"Perhaps Boggs put them here somewhere," said Sullivan. "We will
look."

"No use. No use. We were always careful to keep the powder out of
here on account of fire. The kegs are gone, gone."

"Miller stole them," said Wetzel in his calm voice.

"What difference does that make now?" burst out Silas, turning
passionately on the hunter, whose quiet voice in that moment seemed
so unfeeling. "They're gone!"

In the silence which ensued after these words the men looked at each
other with slowly whitening faces. There was no need of words. Their
eyes told one another what was coming. The fate which had overtaken
so many border forts was to be theirs. They were lost! And every man
thought not of himself, cared not for himself, but for those
innocent children, those brave young girls and heroic women.

A man can die. He