ully dried afterwards. They had with them a squaw whom they
had captured. When not far from home they ran into a party of seven
Indians, likewise returning from a raid, and carrying with them as
prisoners a woman and her child. Brady spied the Indians first and
instantly resolved to attack them, trusting that they would be
panic-struck and flee; though after a single discharge of their rifles
he and his men would be left helpless. Slipping ahead he lay in ambush
until the Indians were close up. He then fired, killing the leader,
whereat the others fled in terror, leaving the woman and child. In the
confusion, however, the captive squaw also escaped and succeeded in
joining the fleeing savages, to whom she told the small number and woful
plight of their assailants; and they at once turned to pursue them.
Brady, however, had made good use of the time gained, and was in full
flight with his two rescued prisoners; and before he was overtaken he
encountered a party of whites who were themselves following the trail of
the marauders. He at once turned and in company with them hurried after
the Indians; but the latter were wary, and, seeing the danger, scattered
and vanished in the gloomy woodland. The mother and child, thus rescued
from a fearful fate, reached home in safety. The letter containing the
account of this deed continues: "This young officer, Captain Brady, has
great merit as a partizan in the woods. He has had the address to
surprise and beat the Indians three different times since I came to the
Department--he is brave, vigilant, and successful." [Footnote: Draper
MSS. Alex. Fowler to Edward Hand, Pittsburgh, July 22, 1780.]

For a dozen years after the close of the Revolution Brady continued to
be a tower of strength to the frontier settlers of Pennsylvania and
Virginia. At the head of his rangers he harassed the Indians greatly,
interfering with and assailing their war parties, and raiding on their
villages and home camps. Like his foes he warred by ambush and surprise.
Among the many daring backwoodsmen who were his followers and companions
the traditions pay particular heed to one Phouts, "a stout, thick
Dutchman of uncommon strength and activity."

In spite of the counter strokes of the wild wood-rangers, the Indian
ravages speedily wrapped the frontier in fire and blood. In such a war
the small parties were really the most dangerous, and in the aggregate
caused most damage. It is less of a paradox than it see