ds a skeleton with a gun was discovered in the woods,
where he must have crept after he was shot.

In the autumn of 1792 Samuel Davis and William Campbell set out from
Massie's Station, now Manchester, to trap beaver on the Big Sandy. One
night as they lay asleep beside their camp fire they were roused by a
voice saying in broken English, "Come, come; get up, get up!" and they
woke to find themselves in the clutches of a large party of Indians
returning from a raid into Virginia. The Indians bound their captives
and started, driving before them a herd of stolen horses. They crossed
the Ohio country, and pushed on toward Sandusky, for they were Shawnees.
At night they tied each prisoner with buffalo thongs and made these fast
to the waist of two Indians, who lay down one on either side of him, and
quieted him with blows if he became restive. At daylight the captives
were untied, but they were warned that they would be instantly killed
if they attempted to escape. Davis was in dread of being burned at
Sandusky, and as the Indians, encumbered with their booty, made only
ten or twelve miles a day, the terror had full time to grow upon him. At
last one morning just before dawn he woke one of the Indians beside
him and asked to be untied; he was answered with a blow of the savage's
fist. He waited a moment, and then woke the other guard, who lifted his
head, and seeing some of his people building a fire, released Davis.

It was still too dark for any of them to get a good shot at him if he
made a dash from their midst, and Davis decided to try for life and
liberty. He knocked a large warrior before him into the fire, bounded
over him, burst through the group around him, and before they could
seize their rifles, which were all stacked together, he had vanished in
the shadows of the forest. They followed him, whooping and yelling, but
none could draw a bead on him, and not a shot was fired. One Indian
was so near that Davis fancied he felt his grasp at times, but he fell
behind, and Davis kept on. When he had distanced them all, he stopped
to tear up his waistcoat, and wrap his feet, naked and bleeding from the
sharp stones which had cut them in his wild flight, and then hurried
on toward the Ohio. Three days without food or fire, in the cold of the
early winter, passed before he reached the river, eight or ten miles
below the mouth of the Scioto. He then saw a large boat coming down the
stream, but his troubles did not end wit