sure enough.
They're waitin', in hopes we'll be drawn outside, after those other
fellows. They know well that the fetchin' in of water is women's and
children's work, and they know well that we'll likely to be needin'
that same water. For us men to go out after it would raise suspicion.
It would mean sartin death for us and a gen'ral attack before the
reinforcements come. If you women go as usual, they'll not harm you.
They'll lay close, thinkin' that we're unsuspicious, and that havin'
the water we'll chase their other party. That's what they want. Go,
every petticoat of you, and every child large enough to tote a piggin.
It'll require spunk--we'll be prayin' for you as men never prayed
before; but you'll come back safe--that we'll guarantee or we wouldn't
send our wives and sisters and children on such a quest. You're
Kentucky women and we're Kentucky men."

The women paled.

"I'll go," promptly said one.

"I'll go," said another, and another.

They all seized buckets and gourds; the boys and girls joined eagerly.

"Goodby, brave hearts--and God be with you."

The gate was opened. In a long procession the file proceeded, led by
Mrs. Jemima Johnson with ten-year-old Betsy Johnson holding to her
hand. There were twelve women and sixteen boys and girls. To see
them, nobody would have thought that they feared. Not a foot stumbled,
not a figure wavered. Sudden silence fell upon the clearing and the
forest. The jabbering Indians in the open stared. Stern faces
blanched, peering through the port-holes of the fort; and in the timber
beyond the spring the painted visages of the three hundred Shawnees,
Wyandots and Mingos and their likewise painted white brothers glared,
astonished and puzzled. Captain Caldwell knew not what to do--but he
gave no signal. Evidently his ambush was a success, so far, else why
had these women come into his very arms, for water?

The procession reached the spring; the women steadily dipped, one after
another; the children stoutly grasped the brimming wooden buckets and
ladles. It was nervous work. Glancing sidewise, they could glimpse
the paint-daubs like scattered autumn leaves; and they could feel the
tenseness of the tigerish forms, itching to leap with knife and
tomahawk. Some of the women tried to laugh and joke, but their voices
sounded thin and flat.

Still unfaltering, the procession commenced to trudge back, the
littlest boy and girl bearing themselves bravely, w