ng with a swagger toward the
concealed savages. In one hand he held up a string of white wampum. And as
he slowly advanced he shouted in the Shawnee language:

"Do my brothers fire on their brother? Do they harm their brother's
friends? Does the Pack-Horse-Man ask his red brothers to be kind only to
have his words fall on dead ears? I bring you belts. My daughter in the
cabin also brings belts to the Shawnees and Mingos and the Delawares."

"Let our white brother come close," called a deep guttural voice.

"That'll be Black Hoof himself," excitedly muttered Cousin, darting his
gaze over the valley in search of the stone or log which hid the great
chief from view.

"Don't shoot! They'll butcher him if you do!" I warned.

"They'll worse'n butcher him if I don't," gritted Cousin. Yet he held his
fire, for the excellent reason he could see nothing to shoot at.

"Tell your people not to fire," again called Black Hoof's powerful voice.

Dale faced the cabins and waved his white wampum, crying:

"I am saving your lives. You men in the lower cabin, throw down your
arms!"

"Like thunder!" grunted Cousin.

"He's fairly among them!" I gasped.

Dale had come to a stop and was turning his head and glancing from one
point to another on the ground as he talked. His voice had its old
confident ring, and there was a slight smile on his lips as he rehearsed
his friendship for the red people and reminded them how often he visited
their villages and smoked their pipes.

When he ceased Black Hoof called out:

"We will lift a peace-pipe to our good friend, the Pack-Horse-Man. We will
cover his friends with the smoke. Let him tell his friends not to be
afraid and to throw down their guns."

Dale was sure of Granville's and the Englishman's behavior, and he
addressed his warning to Cousin and me, calling on us in a stentorian
voice to offer no resistance if we valued our lives. He ended by yelling:

"Catahecassa, war-chief of the Shawnees, spares your lives."

Without giving us time to speak, he waved a hand and commanded:

"It's all right, Patricia! Come out!"

"Stay where you are!" I screamed, my voice muffled by the four stout
walls. I jumped to tear the bar from the door, but Cousin hurled me aside,
panting:

"Too late! God! To think such a woman should walk into their bloody
trap!"

His words sent me to the loophole. Patricia Dale was walking composedly
toward her father, her slim hands holding up her belts. She wi