ht attacks failed. Morning brought a pleasant surprise.
Colonel Andrew Swearingen, Captain Bilderdock and Private Boshears
entered at the rear of the fort, having climbed up from the river.
They brought the news that they had left twelve men, near by, from Fort
Holliday, twenty-four miles above. But they had feared, by reason of
the burning houses, that Fort Henry had been taken.

"Not yet, sir," reproved Colonel Zane. "Not while we have a bullet for
a rifle."

Back went the three, to the boat, and the twelve men were brought in.

The Indians had been strangely quiet since before daylight. Had they
actually quit, defeated! Who might say? It was decided to send out
two scouts, to see. The scouts stole as far as the corn-field and
sighted nothing but the plundered, smoking homes, the carcasses of the
cattle, and the bloody trail of bodies that had been dragged off. Not
a shot was fired at them.

Scarcely had they returned, hopeful, and Colonel Ebenezer Zane was
about to lead out a larger force, when they all heard a cheer. They
looked. Hurrah! Another company of men, ahorse, were galloping across
the bottom, for the top of the bluff, and the fort gates.

"It's Major McColloch! It's Sam McColloch, from Short Creek! Huzza!
Huzza!"

Short Creek was a dozen miles north. The McCollochs lived there. Here
they came--the Short Creek settlers, business bent.

And on a sudden, as the battered double gates of the fort swung, the
Indians sprang from the very ground, and charged to cut off the
galloping company. 'Twas a race for life or death. Shooting right and
left, the Short Creek riders tore on. They were winning, they were
winning. Major Sam McColloch veered aside, to let his men pass. He
was resolved that not one should fail. It was a generous act--the act
of a real captain. But he lingered too long. The Indians were upon
him--they out-stripped him, as he turned late, and before his horse had
caught its stride they were between him and the gates.

He wheeled around, and bending low to avoid the bullets he sped at a
tangent in the opposite direction, for the timber of Wheeling Hill.
The Indians afoot could not catch him, no bullet caught him; he would
make it--he would make it; there he goes, up the hill. He was
safe--but was he?

He had planned to reach another fort: Van Metre's Fort, a block-house
beyond the hill. And he himself thought that he was safe, until,
galloping more easily along the