moment,
but busied themselves with preparations for the new defense.

Mr. Pennypacker was gazing toward the southwest and suddenly on the
crest of a low ridge a black and formless object appeared between him
and the sun. At first he thought it was a mote in his eye, and he rubbed
the pupils but the mote grew larger, and then he looked with a new and
stronger interest. It was a man; no, two men, one carrying the other,
and the motion of the man who bore the other seemed familiar. The
master's heart sprang up in his throat, and the blood swelled in a new
tide in his veins. His hand fell heavily, but with joy, on the shoulder
of Mr. Ware.

"Look up! Look up!" he cried, "and see who is coming!"

Mr. Ware looked up and saw his son, with the wounded Paul Cotter on his
shoulder, walking into camp. Then--the borderers were a pious people--he
fell upon his knees and gave thanks. Two hours later the Shawnees in
full force made a last and desperate attack upon the little white army.
They ventured into the open, as venture they must to reach the
defenders, and they were met by the terrible fire that never missed. At
no time could they pass the deadly hail of bullets, and at last, leaving
the ground strewed with their dead, they fell back into the forest, and
then, breaking into a panic, did not cease fleeing until they had
crossed the Ohio. Throughout the morning Henry Ware was one of the
deadliest sharpshooters of them all, while Paul Cotter lay safely in the
rear, and fretted because his wound would not let him do his part.

The great victory won, it was agreed that Henry Ware had done the best
of them all, but they spent little time in congratulations. They
preferred the sacred duty of burying the dead, even seeking those who
had fallen in the forest the night before; and then they began their
march southward, the more severely wounded carried on rude litters at
first, but as they gained strength after a while walking, though lamely.
Paul recovered fast, and when he heard the story, he looked upon Henry
as a knight, the equal of any who ever rode down the pages of chivalry.

But all alike carried in their hearts the consciousness that they had
struck a mighty blow that would grant life to the growing settlements,
and, despite their sadly thinned ranks, they were full of a pride that
needed no words. The men of Wareville and the men of Marlowe parted at
the appointed place, and then each force went home with the news of
vict