I'd like to hev some 'un tell me. Fanny, I tell you
sunthin' hes happened."

At this moment a shrill and terrible scream was heard in the direction
of the house, followed by the sharp crack of a rifle. Ethan and Fanny,
appalled by the sounds, looked towards the house. They saw Mrs. Grant
rush from the back door, and then fall upon the ground. Two or three
Indians followed her, in one of whom Fanny recognized Lean Bear, the
stalwart chief she had endeavored to conciliate. He bent over the
prostrate form of the woman, was seen to strike several blows with his
tomahawk, and then to use his terrible scalping-knife.

At the sound of the rifle, which seemed to be a signal for the purpose,
the savages who had grouped together outside of the house rushed in,
yelling and hooting like demons.

"Creation hokee!" gasped Ethan, his face as nearly white as its
sun-browned hue would permit.

Fanny's blood was chilled in her veins; she could not speak, and her
limbs seemed to be paralyzed. And now in the distance harsh and
discordant sounds rose on the still morning air. They came from the
direction of the other portions of the settlement. The shrill screams
of women, the hoarse cries of men, and the unearthly yells of the
savages, mingled in horrible confusion. It was evident to the appalled
listeners that a fearful Indian massacre had commenced. They had seen
Mrs. Grant fall; had seen the fierce Lean Bear tomahawk and scalp her.

It was madness to stand still in the midst of so much peril, but both
Ethan and Fanny seemed to be chained to the spot where they stood,
fascinated, as it were, by the anguished cries of agony and death that
were borne to their revolting senses by the airs of that summer
morning. The savages were at that moment busy in ransacking and
plundering the house, but Fanny realized that she might be the next
victim; that the tomahawk of the terrible Lean Bear might be glaring
above her head in a few moments more. She trembled like an aspen leaf
in the extremity of her terror, as she heard the terrific cries uttered
by the mangled, mutilated, dying men, women, and children, far enough
off to be but faintly heard, yet near enough to be horribly distinct.

"It's time sunthin' was did," said Ethan, with quivering lips.

"What can we do?" asked Fanny, in a husky whisper.

"We must git out of sight fust. Come along with me, Fanny," added
Ethan, as he led the way into the barn.

"They will find us here," said Fa