is glorious when he calmly accepts death; but when
he fights like a tiger, when he stands at bay his back to the wall,
a broken weapon in his hand, bloody, defiant, game to the end, then
he is sublime. Then he wrings respect from the souls of even his
bitterest foes. Then he is avenged even in his death.

But what can women do in times of war? They help, they cheer, they
inspire, and if their cause is lost they must accept death or worse.
Few women have the courage for self-destruction. "To the victor
belong the spoils," and women have ever been the spoils of war.

No wonder Silas Zane and his men weakened in that moment. With only
a few charges for their rifles and none for the cannon how could
they hope to hold out against the savages? Alone they could have
drawn their tomahawks and have made a dash through the lines of
Indians, but with the women and the children that was impossible.

"Wetzel, what can we do? For God's sake, advise us!" said Silas
hoarsely. "We cannot hold the Fort without powder. We cannot leave
the women here. We had better tomahawk every woman in the
block-house than let her fall into the hands of Girty."

"Send someone fer powder," answered Wetzel.

"Do you think it possible," said Silas quickly, a ray of hope
lighting up his haggard features. "There's plenty of powder in Eb's
cabin. Whom shall we send? Who will volunteer?"

Three men stepped forward, and others made a movement.

"They'd plug a man full of lead afore he'd get ten foot from the
gate," said Wetzel. "I'd go myself, but it wouldn't do no good. Send
a boy, and one as can run like a streak."

"There are no lads big enough to carry a keg of powder. Harry
Bennett might go," said Silas. "How is he, Bessie?"

"He is dead," answered Mrs. Zane.

Wetzel made a motion with his hands and turned away. A short,
intense silence followed this indication of hopelessness from him.
The women understood, for some of them covered their faces, while
others sobbed.

"I will go."

It was Betty's voice, and it rang clear and vibrant throughout the
room. The miserable women raised their drooping heads, thrilled by
that fresh young voice. The men looked stupefied. Clarke seemed
turned to stone. Wetzel came quickly toward her.

"Impossible!" said Sullivan.

Silas Zane shook his head as if the idea were absurd.

"Let me go, brother, let me go?" pleaded Betty as she placed her
little hands softly, caressingly on her brother's bare arm. "I kno