g, nor did any of the others. They did not stir. The fire crackled
a little, but there was no other sound in the Standish house. Presently
they heard a slight noise outside, that of light feet.

"They are going for a log with which to break the door in," whispered
Henry. "They won't have to look far. The wood pile isn't fifty feet
away."

"An' then," said Shif'less Sol, "they won't have much left to do but to
take the scalps of women an' little children."

Every figure in the Standish house stiffened at the shiftless one's
significant words, and the light in the eyes grew sterner. Henry went
to the door, put his ear to the line where it joined the wall, and
listened.

"They've got their log," he said, "and in half a minute they'll rush it
against the door."

He came back to his old position. Paul's heart began to thump, and his
thumb fitted itself over the trigger of his cocked rifle. Then they
heard rapid feet, a smash, a crash, and the door flew open. A half dozen
Iroquois and a log that they held between them were hurled into the
middle of the room. The door had given away so easily and unexpectedly
that the warriors could not check themselves, and two or three fell
with the log. But they sprang like cats to their feet, and with their
comrades uttered a cry that filled the whole cabin with its terrible
sound and import.

The Iroquois, keen of eyes and quick of mind, saw the trap at once.
The five grim figures, rifle in hand and finger on trigger, all waiting
silent and motionless were far different from what they expected. Here
could be no scalps, with the long, silky hair of women and children.

There was a moment's pause, and then the Indians rushed at their foes.
Five fingers pulled triggers, flame leaped from five muzzles, and in an
instant the cabin was filled with smoke and war shouts, but the warriors
never had a chance. They could only strike blindly with their tomahawks,
and in a half minute three of them, two wounded, rushed through the door
and fled to the woods. They had been preceded already by Braxton Wyatt,
who had hung back craftily while the Iroquois broke down the door.

CHAPTER IX. WYOMING

The five made no attempt to pursue. In fact, they did not leave the
cabin, but stood there a while, looking down at the fallen, hideous with
war paint, but now at the end of their last trail. Their tomahawks lay
upon the floor, and glittered when the light from the fire fell upon
them. Smoke,