e war
whoop--dreadful sound, forerunner of death and torture, concentrating in
its savage cadence all ideas of terror! A moment more, and there came
the sound of many moccasined feet and the hurling of many bodies against
the door. The door held, and the man put the muzzle of his gun in one of
the cracks between the logs and fired. The explosion was followed by a
yell. Shot and cry preluded pandemonium. Without were demoniacal cries,
quick crashing blows against the door, stealthy feet, clambering forms;
within were smoke and the noise of the muskets, the crying of the child,
and a red and flickering light which now brought out each detail of the
rude interior, now plunged all into shadow.

"We are making it hot for them," cried the owner of the hut, reloading
his musket. "There's some shall go to hell before we do. Joan, my
girl--"

An arrow, whistling through a crack, pierced his brain and he fell to
the ground with a crash. The shriek that the woman set up was answered
from without by a triumphant yell, and then one voice was heard
speaking.

"It is the mulatto!" cried Patricia, clasping her hands.

"Yes," answered Landless grimly. "I thought I had done for that devil,
but it seems not. May I have better luck this time!"

"Ugh!" said the Indian, and pointed to the roof, which was low and
thatched with dried grass and moss.

"I see," said Landless. "The cabin is on fire. We must leave it in five
minutes, come what may."

"We will never leave it alive," the Indian said calmly. "The dogs have
us fast. The Chief of the Conestogas will die in a strange land; his
bones will be a plaything for the wolves of the mountains; his scalp
will hang before the wigwam of an Algonquin dog. He will never see the
village and the pleasant river, never will he smoke the peace pipe, he
and his braves, with the Wyandots and the Lenni Lenape, sitting beneath
the mulberries in front of the lodge. He will never see the cornfeast.
He will never dance the war dance again, nor will he lead the war party.
The sagamore dies, and who will tell his tribe? He falls like a leaf in
the forest, like a pebble that is cast into the water. The leaf is not
seen: the stream closes above the pebble--it is gone!" His voice rose
into a chant, stern and mournful, and his vast form appeared to expand,
to become taller. He threw down his gun and drew his long, bright knife.

"They are upon us!" cried Landless, and thrust Patricia behind him.

The rude d