le on his set face, his eyes gleaming
with triumph, his shapely head tilted to enjoy every note of the horrible
anger now welling from the forest. "You fired----"

"I 'low I did," he chuckled. Then with awful intentness, "But the folks
who lived here an' was happy didn't fire on the Injun fetchin' 'em a
bundle o' peace-talk. They believed the Injuns meant it. Do you reckon I
treated that dog any worse than the Shawnees treated my father and mother
and little sister ten years ago? If you don't 'low that, just keep shet.
When a Injun sends you a flag o' truce you want to tie your scalp down, or
it'll blow off."

The chorus of howls in the forest suddenly ceased, then were succeeded by
sharp yelps of joy. Cousin stared at me in bewilderment. Darting to the
back of the cabin, he peered through a chink. "Come here," he softly
commanded. I joined him and took his place at the peephole. There was a
haze of smoke in the eastern sky.

"That's why Black Hoof an' his men are hangin' round here," he sighed. "He
sent a small band farther east. They've made a kill. That's a burnin' over
there."

"That would be Edgely's cabin," I decided. "But they moved back to
Dunlap's Creek three months ago."

"Thank God for that!" he exclaimed. "But we'll have more Injuns round us
mighty soon. I wish it was dark."

"They've stopped their yowling. Look out for fresh deviltry!"

He nodded and walked to the front of the cabin. The horse neighed shrilly.
The call was repeated in the forest. The Indians continued silent. I heard
it first; that is to recognize it. For I had heard it the day before. The
voice of a man shouting fretfully, much as an angry child complains.
Cousin understood it when a whimpering note was added.

"Baby Kirst!" he softly cried. "Black Hoof will 'low his medicine is
mighty weak. Baby's out there an' in a bad frame o' mind. Somethin' is
goin' ag'in' the grain. It's good medicine for us that he wandered up this
way."

I began sketching the happenings at Howard's Creek, but before I could
finish the bushes on the hem of the woods were violently agitated and Baby
Kirst rode into the clearing, his horse in a lather. When he beheld the
dead cows and hogs he yelled like a madman and plucked his heavy ax from
his belt, and turned back to the woods. He disappeared with a crash, his
hoarse voice shouting unintelligible things.

"Now you can go," quietly said Cousin as he unbarred the door. "Be keerful
o' the Injuns to the ea