shes of the rifles. The smoke from
the firing, with no breeze to drive it away, hung low in a dense bank
that stung the mouths and nostrils of the combatants.

"Keep low, Paul! Keep low!" cried Henry, dragging his young comrade down
among some spicewood bushes. "If you are bound to stick your head up
like that it will be stopping a tomahawk soon."

Paul did not have to wait for the truth of Henry's words, as a shining
blade whizzed directly where his head had been, and, passing on,
imbedded itself in the trunk of a mighty beech. Paul shuddered. It
seemed to him that he felt a hot wind from the tomahawk as it flew by.
In his zeal and excitement he had forgotten the danger for a moment or
two, and once more Henry had saved his life.

"I wish it would grow lighter," muttered Shif'less Sol. "It's hard to
tell your friends from your enemies on a black night like this, and
we'll be all mixed up soon."

"We five at least must keep close together," said Henry.

A fierce yell of victory came from the southern side of the camp, a yell
that was poured from Indian throats, and every one of the five felt
apprehension. Could their line be driven in? Driven in it was! Fifty
Wyandots and as many Shawnees under Moluntha, the most daring of their
war chiefs, crashed suddenly against the weakest part of the half
circle. Firing a heavy volley they had rushed in with the tomahawk, and
the defenders, meeting them with clubbed rifles, were driven back by the
fury of the attack and the weight of numbers. There was a confused and
terrible medley of shouts and cries, of thudding tomahawks and rifle
butts, of crashing brushwood and falling bodies. It was all in the hot
dark, until the lightning suddenly flared with terrifying brightness.
Then it disclosed the strained faces of white and red, the sweat
standing out on tanned brows, and the bushes torn and trampled in the
wild struggle. The red blaze passed and the night shot down in its place
as thick and dark as ever. Neither red men nor white were able to drive
back the others. In this bank of darkness the cries increased, and the
cloud of smoke grew steadily.

It was not only well that these men were tried woodsmen, but it was
equally well that they were led by a great wilderness chief. George
Rogers Clark saw at once the point of extreme danger, and, summoning his
best men, he rushed to the rescue. The five heard the call. Knowing its
urgency, they left the spicewood and swept down with