r that there could be no
mistake about it.

"Who dar?" demanded Jethro, in his deepest voice, holding his rifle
ready to use it in case the Indian effected an entrance.

There was no answer, but the efforts on the outside ceased for a minute,
to be resumed more guardedly than at first.

"Go way from der, I toles yo' or yo'll get into trouble," called the
youth, in a louder voice, meant to be as threatening as he could make
it.

Again the pushing ceased, and all became still.

Jethro heard the wind blowing strongly around the cabin and among the
trees beyond. Standing in the open clearing, as did the cabin, no shadow
was cast upon it. The narrow windows, therefore, were clearly outlined
against the dim moonlight. The youth glanced furtively at them,
comprehending more fully than at any time before the sad mistake he had
made in disobeying the orders of Kenton. But for that he would not have
been in his present plight.

But it was too late for regrets to avail him. All he could do was to
fight it out as best he knew how to the end.

Stepping nearer the door, he bent his head and listened. The pressure
against the structure had ceased, but he caught the murmur of voices
when a few broken sentences were uttered. Their meaning, of course, was
beyond his reach.

"Why don't dey be gemmen?" he asked himself, "or talk in American, so
dat anoder gemmen can understand 'em? I don't know what dey's talkin'
'bout, and it sounds as if dey don't know demselves."

He could understand, however, that no immediate cause for fear existed.

A dozen brawny Shawanoes could not force the door, and the windows, as
has been explained, were too narrow for any one to push his body
through.

But, all the same, some mischief was afoot at one of the rear
window's--the one into which Jethro Juggens had fired that very day with
fatal effect. The disturbance was transferred from the door to the
window.

The youth was standing in the middle of the lower apartment, gun in
hand, watching and listening. The moon was so placed in the heavens that
this particular opening was seen more clearly than any of the others,
and peering intently at it, Jethro became conscious of some dark object
that was slowly obtruding into his field of vision.

"What de mischief am dat?" he muttered. "Looks like a hobblegoblin, but
I knows it am an Injin."

Dimly seen in the partial illumination, the resemblance to the head of a
warrior was so close that all doubt