ient voice repeatedly urged me to make greater speed.

"If the cabin ain't standin' we've got to have 'nough of a lead to let us
lose 'em in the woods," he reminded.

The path completed a detour of some tangled blackberry bushes and ended in
a natural opening, well grassed.

"There it is! The roof is partly burned!" I encouraged.

"The walls stand. The door's in place. Faster!"

Across the opening we raced. From the woods behind arose a ferocious
yelling. The Shawnee were confident they had driven us into a trap. We
flashed by two dead cows and some butchered hogs, and as yet I had not
seen an Indian except the one masked in a bear's pelt. The cabin roof was
burned through at the front end. The door was partly open and uninjured.

It was simple reasoning to reconstruct the tragedy even while we hastened
to shelter. The family had offered resistance, but had been thrown into a
panic at the first danger from fire. Then it was quickly over. Doubtless
there had been something of a parley with the usual promise of life if
they came out. The fire crackled overhead, the victims opened the door.

Cousin said they had been conducted to the main trace before being
slaughtered. As I leaped from my horse a fringe of savages broke from
cover and began shooting. Cousin dropped the foremost of them. I led the
horse inside the cabin and my companion closed and barred the door.

The interior of the place mutely related the tragic story. It is the
homely background of a crime that accents the terrible. On the table was
the breakfast of the family, scarcely touched. They had been surprised
when just about to eat. An overturned stool told how one of the men had
leaped to bar the door at the first alarm. I spied through a peephole but
could see nothing of our foes. A low cry from Cousin alarmed me. He was
overcome at the sight of a small apron.

"I wish I'd stuck to the open," he whispered. "The air o' this place
chokes me."

"If we can stand them off till night we can send the horse galloping
toward the woods to draw their fire. Then we can run for it."

"There won't be no darkness to-night," morosely replied Cousin. "They'll
make big fires. They'll try to burn us out. We're well forted till they
git the roof blazin' ag'in. We'll 'low to stick here s'long we can. They
won't dare to hang round too long."

He took a big kettle from the fireplace and thrust it through the hole in
the roof. Bullets whistled overhead, with an occasi