“Yes, yes—in a minute we’ll save you,” shouted young Harmon, and when the gate flew open he was the first to leap forward.
As he did so, full twenty dark forms rose from behind as many stumps, and the next second, a volley poured in at the gate.
Two of the rescuers staggered back, and Mark Harmon, uninjured, but with a wounded girl in his arms, turned to the gate again.
“Quick! they are charging you!” shouted a dozen agonized voices from the upper portion of the block-house; but such words were unnecessary, for the men at the gate comprehended their danger.
The clearing seemed literally covered with savages, and between the foremost and the bordermen a terrible fight was progressing at the palisades. A volley was poured into the red ranks from the port-holes, and a number fell; but the greater portion of the settlers had rushed below, and were trying to beat the red-skins from the gate that it might be closed.
At last, after half an hour of the most desperate fighting on record, the ponderous gate was swung to again and barred; and with blows indicative of future vengeance, on the heavy oaken boards, the Indians retreated to cover.
Twelve of their number had fallen in the attack, while no less than ten of the bordermen, or one fourth of the fort’s defenders, lay dead between the palisades and the strong logs.
But the mission of humanity had resulted in success!
Levi Armstrong, his daughter Huldah, and the Logan girls were safe, for a while at least, behind strong timbers; but the yells of their foes told the settlers that the Wyandot looked upon his defeat in the light of success.
He had reduced the number of the fort’s defenders, when not a single man could be spared, while the loss of his twelve braves would not be felt by the hundreds that still remained.
“Captain Strong,” said Mark Harmon after the fight, “we are willing to restore you to your command, for we honor your experience in Indian warfare. Humanity compelled usto treat you as we have.Nowwe are willing that the gates shall remain closed.”
“I should say you were,” said Zebulon Strong, with an ill-concealed sneer, as he glanced at the dead bordermen who had been borne into the fort, prior to burial. “I will take command again. I’m to be obeyed in every thing after this. We are besieged now, and like men we will die, if die we must, together.”
His speech was greeted with applause, and many despairing ones took new hope; but Levi Armstrong whispered to Mark Harmon:
“The captain must be watched. He hasn’t begun to forgive you fellers for savin’ our lives.”
After Zebulon Strong resumed command of the fort, its defensive resources were thoroughly inspected, and the dead buried.
The settlers knew that the siege would be pushed with the utmost vigor, and that every Indian artifice would be used to place them at the mercy of the tomahawk.
They could not look to final success, for their supply of water was meager, and the whole Indian force of the “fire-lands” could be brought to bear against them.
“There’s one man whom we should have with us,” remarked a young settler, in the presence of Captain Strong, shortly after the burial.
“Who is he?” asked a dozen voices.
“Wolf-Cap. I tell you he’s worth a dozen rifles.”
“Ay, a hundred,” said Mark Harmon. “If he and Silver Hand were in the fort!”
“We can get along without ’em,” grated Strong, shooting a fierce look at the young frontiersman. “We’ll fight our own battle without the aid of illegal squatters and Indians!”
His last sentence was uttered in a subdued tone, as he turned from the group, and other men than the old settler and Mark Harmon thought that the captain would bear watching.
Wolf-Cap entertained several good reasons for suggesting Strong’s fort as a place of refuge for the Armstrong family. Throop’s block-house was nearer the settler’s cabin than Strong’s; but the latter was better adapted for defense. It was the strongest post in the “fire-lands,” and the trapper assured himself that Zebulon Strong would receive the fugitives with open arms, and hail the settler’s presence with joy.
Left to his own choice, Levi Armstrong would have sought shelter at Throop’s, which post his hands had helped to rear, and consequently he could well claim protection there. The Logans, too, belonged to Throop’s; but fearful lest the little block-house, illy-defended, would soon succumb to the red tomahawk, they resolved to seek Strong’s. As the sequel will show, they would have fared better at the first-named fort.
The band of six fugitives, after leaving the Armstrong cabin, traveled fast. Levi counseled a delay till the arrival of Wolf-Cap; but John Logan and his sisters would listen to no such counsel, and the settler therefore broke his promise to the trapper.
The mouth of Eel Creek was reached, and the Huron crossed in safety, and the fears of the fugitives began to subside.
Strong’s fort would soon be reached, and then they could bid defiance to the fiends of the fire-lands.
But suddenly, while pushing down the left bank of the Huron, the report of a rifle saluted their ears, and John Logan fell to rise no more. Instantly the settler turned to combat his foes, when three more shots were poured into their little ranks by the hidden enemies, and then the fugitives, knowing themselves near Strong’s and ahead of the slayers, turned and fled.
Fortunately, the little party escaped injury by the second volley; but Levi lifted his daughter from the ground, and bore her, shielded by his body, to the frontier fort.
The Indians kept near the fugitives, but did not attempt to make a capture. They seemed bent on the success of some stratagem, which was seen by the whites at the eleventh hour. The fort was already invested by a powerful force of savages fresh from the victory at Detroit, and certain signals told the settlers’ pursuers of well-laid plans. But the bravery of the fort’s defenders had defeated the stratagem, as the reader has seen; but not without the loss of valuable men.
“Stop, chief! In the name of Heaven, listen to that.”
The speaker was Card Belt, and it was the volley fired by the stump-sheltered savages at the opening of Strong’s gates, that called forth his words.
“Indians attack fort,” said the Wyandot, in his native tongue. “White people get to gates, and when they open, Indians shoot.”
“But a real battle is raging. Hark! I hear the yells of the Indians. Come! we’ll go and help the boys!”
But the chief slowly shook his head.
“No use go there,” he said. “We can’t help pale-faces,” and standing in the shadows of several giant trees, the couple listened to the sound of battle.
The trapper, while he listened, acknowledged the strength of Silver Hand’s counsel. He believed that Fort Strong was invested, and knew that, for the present, they could render no assistance to its inmates. In the future, they might be able to help them.
At last the couple heard the yells of the beaten savages, and exchanged looks of satisfaction.
“I’d like to know whether Levi and his girl got into Strong’s or not,” said Wolf-Cap, with an anxious expression of countenance. “Silver Hand, they’d better not touch one o’ Huldah Armstrong’s hairs. I say I’ll kill the first fellar what does—there! I should judge that its pretty near midnight now,” he continued, after a pause, during which the Indian made no attempt to speak. “We’d better be movin’ somewhere. The fellars what we fooled down on Eel Creek haven’t passed yet; but mebbe they’ve joined their red brethren by another route. They could do that, you know. The troubles of Strong’s fort has begun now, and we’ve got to help ’em, somehow or other. But first, let’s go down to my hutand stir up a few eatables. Besides, I want to see if every thing’s right thar, and to liberate Yellow Dick.”
The Wyandot acquiesced in the trapper’s proposition, and a moment later the spot was deserted.
Silver Hand belonged to the same nation that besieged Fort Strong with malicious intent. During the Revolutionary war the Wyandots divided; a faction headed by the celebrated Captain Pipe aided the British, while the minor division, under the leadership of White Eyes, sided with the colonies. The factions refused to come together after the war, so when the second trouble with English oppression sought the combat of lead and steel, the unreconciled Indians resumed their old relations. The English Wyandots, led by Splitlog and Roundhead joined Proctor’s forces, while the friends of the United States opposed them. To the latter party Silver Hand belonged.
He was present at the encounter of Hull, but effected his escape after that catastrophe, and hastened to his old hunting-grounds—the fire-lands.
The white trapper and his staunch red ally reached the vicinity of the proscribed cabin during that period of darkness preceding dawn.
The skies were darkened overhead, for the moon had disappeared, and the scene was made quite dismal by the ominous hootings of a great owl perched upon the cone of the hut.
“Things are too still here for me, Silver Hand,” whispered the trapper, in his cautious tone, when they had halted near the solitary hut. “I’ve come home at all times o’ nights and mornin’s, but never afore hev I see’d an owl on the roof. Jest listen to ’im. Why I kin hear ’im say ‘go away’ as plainly as I hear his voice. No, chief, I don’t rush into the old hut jist now. We’re on the edge of a trap!”
Silver Hand did not appear to hear the trapper’s words.
His body was bent forward, and he was trying to discern the minutiæ of the cabin and its immediate vicinity. But the darkness baffled him.
For the period of an hour the twain crouched, like bowlders, in their place of concealment, and then Wolf-Cap moved forward, leaving the Indian to await his return.
He approached the cabin until the owl suddenly vacated his perch, and hied away to the forest. Quickly but noiselessly, then, the trapper returned to his ally.
“Owl gone,” said Silver Hand, before the white man could find a tongue. “Who scared ’im?”
“That’s jest what I’m goin’ to tell you, chief. My cabin is inhabited. I know it, and somebody from the inside frightened that owl. I know that the bird didn’t leave of his own accord, and he didn’t see a mouse, either. Now, I’m going to find out who’s taken possession of the hut.”
Thereupon a series of snake-like movements were inaugurated by the couple, who succeeded in passing around the cabin without discovering a foe.
Whoever was in the hut kept very quiet, and the mystery deepened with each succeeding moment.
His dog’s silence increased Wolf-Cap’s suspicion of foul-play. Yellow Dick had always greeted his return with a peculiar cry; but now the death of silence reigned, and the trapper had touched the wall of his old home without eliciting any noise from the dog.
A second inspection of the clearing and adjacent forest followed the first, and then Wolf-Cap turned suddenly upon the Indian, with compressed lips.
“I won’t stand it any longer,” he said, sternly. “The rascal’s got to show himself now. Watch everywhere, chief, while I oust ’im. If I don’t do it, the Night-Hawks will.”
The last sentence was spoken in an undertone; and with a quantity of light brushwood the trapper moved toward the cabin.
By the help of steps cut in the logs he ascended to the roof, and deposited his burden between the dry clapboards. Then he sprinkled a quantity of powder among the combustible stuff, and ignited the whole with his flints.
“Now!” he exclaimed, springing to the ground and glancing up at the fire taking firm hold on the clapboards. “Now, I fancy as how the fellow will show himself.”
His surmises proved correct.
The tenants of his cabin did show themselves. The roof of the cabin was soon in a blaze, and the twain watched thedoor with ready rifles. A lurid light overspread the clearing, and bathed the bosom of the river in romantic beauty.
By and by the trapper began to think that, after all, he had surmised incorrectly, for the howls of a dog emanated from the burning building. Silver Hand listened to the cries, the suspicious part of his nature fully aroused, and himself undecided how to act.
Wolf-Cap wanted to save his dog, and the Indian noted the working of his face in the firelight that stole to their retreat.
“Silver Hand, I’ve been taken in,” said Belt, suddenly. “I can’t hear Dick howl that way. By Huron! he shan’t cry for mercy whenIam about!”
“But why he keep still so long?” retorted Silver Hand, quickly. “Trapper answer that if he kin!”
It is doubtful whether Wolf-Cap caught the gist of the Wyandot’s sentences, for he jerked his arm from the red fingers that encircled it, and rushed in to the firelight.
The thought of his noble dog—the guardian of his life and home for many years—cooped up within a blazing building, blinded him to the arguments of caution, and the Indian muttered an oath and leaped to his feet when he saw that Wolf-Cap was gone!
The daring trapper had reached the path that led from his door to a spring near the river, when he suddenly paused.
A strange and suspicious voice beyond the logs had startled him.
It sounded like a man’s voice, and his acute senses had already shaped it into the words, “All ready?”
He had not time to turn to join Silver Hand nor to signal him. He was within six feet of the cabin door, and was looking to his rifle, when the ponderous oaken portal swung wide, and five stalwart fellows threw themselves upon him.
They—the Night-Hawks—were the tenants of his cabin!
He retreated a step, and delivered a shot that stretched one man upon the ground, and then, after a desperate struggle, he was secured and his weapons taken from him.
Silver Hand lent no assistance to his friend; and his assistance would have availed the trapper nothing. Therefore the chief’s disappearance was not a sign of cowardice; on thecontrary it was a sign of good judgment, big with assurances of future help.
“So, cabin-burner, you have bid defiance to the Night-Hawks,” said the spokesman of the outlaws, pointing to the paper still visible on the cabin door: “No block-house shall shelter me. I spare not, and no mercy ask.”
A wild laugh greeted this quotation from the trapper’s defiance, and the outlaws crowded near him.
“Men, I mean every word I have written on my door,” he said, calmly. “There war nine of ye; there ar’ but eight now,” and here his glance fell upon the man whom he had shot dead. “I war willin’ to take the odds ag’in’ me for I am no illegal squatter, and I hate outlaws. Royal Funk, I am free to confess that you’ve got the upper hand now.”
“And I’m going to keep it, Card Belt,” replied the desperado, with a smile. “I posted a fair warning on your door last night. ‘Fly or die,’ it said. You would not fly, so—”
“I must die, eh?”
“Just so.”
“When—now?”
“No. We’re going to take you down to the Indians at Fort Strong, and I guess the Night-Hawks will treat the settlers to a public execution. You and Silver Hand played it on us to-night. We were following the Armstrongs when you called us back.”
“So you came down here and hid in the old cabin?”
“Yes.”
“Whar’s my dog?”
“In the house.”
A twitch of pain followed by an angry pallor, came to the trapper’s lips, and the light of vengeance flashed in his eyes.
“Come, Frank, let’s be goin’,” said one of the outlaws at this juncture. “’Tis gettin’ day, an’ Splitlog may need us at Strong’s. We want to be there at the death.”
“For that moment you must wait a long time,” said Wolf-Cap, addressing the leader of the Night-Hawks. “Strong’s is prepared to stand a desperate siege.”
“True; but its fate is inevitable. Card Belt, so sure as the sun rises this day, Strong’s fort shall be given to theflames, and its inmates, all save one, to the tomahawk. We are determined to depopulate ‘the fire-lands.’ Why man, four hundred Indians invest the fort at this hour. How can it escape?”
“It can! it shall!” cried the trapper. “But,” and his tone softened, “but you say that one person in Strong’s shall not die. Pray, Royal Funk, who is to be thus favored?”
“A certain woman—my lady-love,” said the outlaw, striking a ridiculous attitude, with his head thrown back, and his thumbs inserted into the sides of his hunting-frock just below the armpits. “What! didn’t you know I was in love, Wolf-Cap?”
“No.”
“Why, all these brave fellows know it. They’ve patted me on the back and said, ‘Go it, Roy.’ But the mirth of the whole matter is, Belt, that I’ve never told my love to her. She’s ignorant of my passion, and you see I must get her out of Strong’s so as to breathe it softly into her ears. Old Levi might object; butI generally marry orphans!”
Despite his anticipations, Wolf-Cap started when the identity of the outlaw’s love was declared.
What! should Royal Funk, the Night-Hawk captain, possess Huldah Armstrong?
Not, thought Wolf-Cap, if he could prevent him. But he was under sentence of death, and stood in the shadow of the Terror’s wing.
Half an hour after the capture of Wolf-Cap, the Night-Hawks started to join the besiegers of Strong’s fort.
When the flush of day broke upon Strong’s fort, not a foe was to be seen.
The numerous stumps in the clearing sheltered no feathered head; but the whites knew that their enemies had not raised the siege. The greater portion of the dusky besiegers had withdrawn to the river bank, while large numbers lay behind the hill, in the rear of the fort.
But, as the light became stronger, the defenders caught glimpses of tufts of feathers along the river; but no shots were fired.
In the opinion of several settlers, the perilous situation of affairs called for a council of war, and accordingly Captain Strong, much against his will, was induced to convene such an assembly. The council met in the lower room of the fort.
“Men,” said Strong, who could not conceal his ill-humor, “as I have said, I see no necessity for this council. I thoughtIwas director of affairs here, and when Indians are to be dealt with, I know what to do. But I will listen to any suggestions you may offer, and, if I like, will adopt them.”
Several old “fire-lands” men shook their heads gravely at the captain’s words; but made no reply.
Mark Harmon, the young frontiersman, opened the council.
“In the first place,” he said, “we need a new well.”
“We have a well, sir,” said Strong, tartly.
“You seem to forget that we have depended on the river for much water. That supply is effectually cut off now, and our sole well will not supply the demand in case the fort should be set on fire with blazing arrows. We are in for a desperate siege; the result of the gate battle has exasperated our foes, and they will leave no hellish contrivance for our capture untried. I look for terrible times to-night.”
“And you will not be disappointed, Harmon,” said an old gray-haired settler. “We stand on the edge of a crater.”
“Gentlemen, I anticipate but little hardship,” said Strong, who had listened to the young scout, with a clearly defined sneer. “The Wyandots will abandon the siege before two days, for there are other forts weaker than ours. Throop’s, Martin’s, and Westfall’s can not withstand a siege. Knowing this, the Indians will desert us for them; then, during their absence, we can strengthen our own resources.”
“Suppose, captain, that an attack should be made to-night, and our roof be set on fire,” said Levi Armstrong. “’Tis said that there are but two feet of water in the well now, and none flowing in.”
“The statement is not correct,” retorted Strong, quickly. “Yesterday I fathomed four feet of water, and more was entering. The well is a good one, and can not be dipped dry. I know whereof I speak; therefore my positiveness, gentlemen.”
The council broke up without a command being given for a new well. A number of the settlers sided with Zebulon Strong; but a wary few felt that the proposed well was an absolute want.
However, Mark Harmon got a guard over their water supply, and each family received a certain quantity of the precious fluid. The stubbornness of the captain was the cause of much comment; but as he was an old woodman and knew much of Indian sieges, it was generally admitted that he knew best, and so the day wore on.
“Do you think we will be attacked to-night, Mr. Harmon?”
The speaker’s mellow tones denoted her to be Huldah Armstrong, and she looked anxiously into the borderer’s face as she asked the question. They stood near a port-hole that looked at the hills, behind whose bare summit the sun had just disappeared.
“I look for bloodshed before dawn,” he said. “The savages would have us believe that they have deserted the vicinity; but they still remain. They are not going to raise the siege so soon after its inauguration, Miss Armstrong.” And then glancing through the port he quickly changed the subject. “But your run for life was perilous.”
“Yes; and, Mr. Harmon, father says we owe our lives to your daring. Therefore, let me thank you.”
He blushed to his temples and averted his eyes, which had returned to her face.
“No thanks, Miss Armstrong. The brave fellows who fought at the gates are the heroes, not I. But I am rejoiced to see you safe after such a noble run for life. But—”
“A flag—a flag!” was the cry that broke the youth’s sentence, and drew his eye to the musket port again.
“As I live, Miss Armstrong, our foes are treating us to a flag of truce,” he said, his eyes still riveted upon several figures that had suddenly appeared on the top of the hill. “This is an action by me entirely unexpected. What can it mean?”
Captain Strong was soon notified of the approach of the flag, and watched it through one of the openings.
His face worked strangely while he looked, and there was the light of vengeance in his large, sloe-black eyes. But he kept his face near the port, so that no one in the fort could study its expressions.
“If they demand a surrender, of course you will refuse to comply, captain,” ventured an old settler, who stood near the borderman.
Instantly, with a face crimsoned with rage, Zebulon Strong wheeled from the little embrasure:
“Am I to be dictated to on every hand?” he cried, appealing to the inmates of the apartment. “If I am captain here merely in name, I want to know it. I know a thing or two, and if I am to be advised by every frightened man and woman in the fort, you can take my broken sword, and elect another commander. What! surrender to yon horde of butcherers? Never. When they take Fort Strong, there shall be no living soul to torture.”
A loud cheer greeted Strong’s final words, and cries of, “We want no other captain!” “Do what you please!” resounded on every side.
So the officer sheathed the Revolutionary sword which he had drawn, and turned to see that the bearers of the flag of truce had halted about twenty yards from the palisades.
“Ho! Captain Strong,” came a loud and clear voice fromthe little group, and it was seen that the speaker was a white man clad in the full scarlet uniform of a British officer.
“Well, what is wanting?” answered Strong, through the embrasure.
“You are surrounded by nine hundred Indians, and four hundred of his majesty’s troops,” said the spokesman of the flag-bearers. “Colonel O’Neill, commander of the combined forces, desires to spare the effusion of noble blood, and therefore summons you to surrender at once.”
“Upon what terms?” asked Strong, as a murmur of defiance ran through the ranks of the fort’s defenders.
“Your people will be permitted to depart in peace; but the fort, of course, will be destroyed,” said the Briton.
“Nine hundred Indians and four hundred British,” said Strong, turning to his men after the Englishman’s last words. “I did not think the odds were so terrible.”
“The soldier lies!” cried Levi Armstrong, stepping forward. “He has spoken to terrify us, and the quarter we would receive is the quarter given to Captain Heald at Chicago. Bordermen, remember that massacre of men, women and children. Shall we surrender?”
“No! no!” rung on every side, and Captain Strong’s face assumed the hue of ashes.
“What is your answer?” cried the English officer, his impatience manifest in his voice. “Colonel O’Neill pledges his word of honor as a soldier of his majesty’s army, that the tomahawk shall be withheld in the event of a quick surrender. He can control the Wyandots, and he will. If the commander of your fort is Zebulon Strong, he then knows Colonel Argent O’Neill to be a gentleman.”
“Colonel Argent O’Neill—I know him,” said the captain. “But my men refuse to surrender.”
“Colonel O’Neill speaks to Captain Strong—not to his men,” returned the soldier, proudly; but with a sneer of contempt in his tone.
“Go back to your commander and tell him that Fort Strong will be the abode of the dead when he takes it. We know a Briton’s promise to be but another name for a lie.”
The last speaker was Mark Harmon, and his words were applauded as he turned from the embrasure.
“I was about to answer him,” said Strong, in a hoarse voice.
“He is answered!” was the young borderman’s reply.
The captain bit his lips and turned to the port again as the British officer spoke:
“The consequences be upon your own head, Captain Strong,” he said. “I have performed my duty; you have refused to perform yours. My colonel will give the conduct of the siege to the Indians now.”
Thereupon the speaker turned abruptly on his heel, and the flag of truce disappeared over the brow of the hill.
A minute later the flash of a musket and the thud of a bullet told the defenders of Fort Strong that the battle had opened.
A single gun from the fort sent a defiance to the hidden foes, and for the space of an hour quiet reigned.
Captain Strong now seemed eager to defend the block-house to the last, and exchanged words of encouragement with the settlers as he inspected the defenses.
“Well, we’re in for it, now, Morgan,” he said, in a low tone, to a burly fellow stationed near the gate where, a few hours before, so much blood had been shed. “They refuse to surrender, and now your part of the work comes. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” answered the sentry, glancing around. “The darkness will aid me.”
“Can you scale the wall?”
“Easily from the inside here.”
“Then make haste. You know the signal. I will do the rest.”
Captain Strong slipped a piece of paper into the guard’s hand as he spoke the last word, and turned away.
The next moment Morgan Sawyer scaled the pickets, and dropped to the ground on the outer side!
Then he ran toward the hill under cover of the intense darkness. For dense clouds obscured the sky from horizon to horizon, thus effectually blotting out the light of the moon.
Captain Strong had hardly gained the interior of the fort, when Sawyer’s escape was discovered.
“What! a traitor among us?” cried the commander,counterfeiting indignation and surprise to an admirable degree. “And at the gate, too! Harmon and Cole, at once to the portals! I knowyoucan be trusted. Matt Hunter, you will take Isaac’s place at the well. Curse Morg Sawyer! may the fiends scalp him for his treachery!”
The commander’s wish was echoed by more than one determined settler, who waited for the onslaught of the savages.
The men at the embrasures listened and looked for their foes, and Zebulon Strong walked uneasily about, listening all the time for a certain sound.
Once or twice he pushed the long black locks from his ears, and paused for a moment at one of the ports.
Suddenly a pistol-shot came from the hill, then another, and another.
Strong was descending to the first floor of the block-house when the sounds fell upon his ears, and he paused in the center of the ladder with a smile.
“Morg has succeeded,” he said, in the lowest of mutterings. “Now let Hunter do his duty.”
The pistol-shots died away, and no volley of musketry followed.
In the dim light of the candles, old Levi Armstrong looked at Mark Harmon and moved to his side.
“What do you think now?” he whispered.
“The foe on the hill is signaling the foe by the river.”
“Thus you interpret the shots?”
“Yes.”
“I differ. They are the result of Morg Sawyer’s treason. This roof still shelters his confederates.”
The young hunter caught the settler’s arm.
“For heaven’s sake, whom do you suspect?” he asked. “Tell me. We must act at once if we have traitors in our midst.”
The old man bent nearer to reply, when the whiz of a burning arrow startled him, and caused him to spring to the embrasure.
But the fiery missile missed the fort, and quivered in a stump near the river.
“Now take the buckets, men!” cried the voice of Captain Strong. “We must fight fire with water!”
Instantly a score of stout leathern buckets were brought into requisition, and the boards that covered the well removed.
“A little water for the women, first,” said Levi Armstrong, dropping one of the buckets into the well by means of a rope.
Down, down went the receptacle, and the men stood about with anxious faces. They wanted to know how much water was in the well, for upon a generous supply of the fluid, their lives and the lives of their wives and little ones depended.
At last the bucket was heard to strike water, and old Levi looked up almost despairingly.
“There’s scarcely two feet o’ water in the well,” he said.
“I fathomed four last night,” said Zebulon Strong, confidently. “But quick! draw up, Armstrong, and let more buckets be lowered. The burning arrows shoot from the hill like meteors.”
The next instant the water was at the top, and the settler threw the rope to Matt Hunter.
“This is for the women,” said the old man; “but I’ll taste it first.”
He raised the bucket to his lips, but a moment later ejected the mouthful of water which he had taken, and started toward the well, with flashing eyes.
“Let nobody swallow a drop of that water!” he cried. “It has been poisoned, and the poisoner is still sheltered by the roof of Fort Strong!”
The effect of the startling words was utterly indescribable. It could not have been equaled by the sudden dropping of a thunderbolt into the fort.
During the brief period of time that intervened between the battle at the gates and the discharge of blazing arrows at the fort itself, the beautiful fire-lands had not escaped the vengeance of the settlers’ enemies.
The deserted cabins were given over to the mercies of the torch, and the work of months perished in a few hours. The red burners were accompanied by British soldiers, who outdid the fiends of the forest in heartless ferocity, and at nightfall they returned to the besiegers loaded with plunder and glutted with diabolism.
“Well, what are you going to do with your man, now that you’ve got him?” asked Colonel O’Neill of Royal Funk, when the outlaw reappeared at the British head-quarters, fresh from the work of destruction above referred to.
“What am I going to do with ’im, colonel? Why, I’ll tell you. It was my intention to execute ’im on top o’ the hill, yesterday; but I’ve changed my mind. There’s a girl in Fort Strong—a girl whom I want—Huldah Armstrong, and strange to say, Card Belt wants her, too.”
“Ah! I see,” said the British officer, with a smile. “He is your rival.”
“Yes, colonel; but I hold the best hand now, as you will admit by glancing at the cards. We are bound to take the fort.”
“It will be ours before another sunset. You know what Strong is doing?”
“Andrews told me, an hour since. But can we rely on him?”
“We can,” said O’Neill, assuringly, and with emphasis. “Strong, at the heart, is a coward, yet he will do desperate things. He was a secret Tory in Herkimer county, New York, during the Revolution, and while campaigning in that region, I became acquainted with him. More than once he furnishedme with valuable information concerning the movements of the enemy, and I believe that the rebels never suspected him. His loyalty to King George has never for a moment abated. I tell you we have a friend in Fort Strong, without whom we could do nothing. For Splitlog was about to relinquish the siege when the deserter reached our camp with Strong’s proposition. Now the Indians will stay with us. But the thread of your story has been broken. I want to know what you are going to do with the squatter.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you in a few words,” answered the leader of the Night-Hawks. “I’m going to marry Huldah Armstrong in his presence, after the Wyandot fashion, and then—why, then I’m going to dispose of him.”
“After the Wyandot fashion, also, I suppose,” smiled the colonel.
“Just so,” said Funk, returning the smile. “When do you open the battle?”
“The Indians are preparing the fiery arrows now,” was the reply. “Ha! there goes one, already!” and the colonel’s hand directed the outlaw’s gaze to a blazing arrow shooting toward the fort.
It was quickly followed by another and another, until a perfect shower of fiery missiles rained upon the fort.
But the firm and dry clap-boards that formed the roof resisted nobly, and the arrows rebounded and dropped into the yard below.
“We must get the arrowsunderthe boards,” said O’Neill, turning to the chief, Splitlog, who stood at his side. “Send some of your bravest Wyandots nearer the fort, and tell them to shoot their red arrows beneath the roof.”
“Indians get shot down if they go nearer fort,” returned the chief, with a shrug of the shoulders. “Let white chief sendhismen.”
O’Neill bit his lip with anger.
“Who proposed this attack?” he cried, with flashing eyes. “I brought my men hither at your request. They were not to risk their lives. If your Indians are brave, they can fire the fort.”
Splitlog turned away without another word, and a few minutes later a number of fiery arrows were seen to ascendalmost from beneath the very palisades. Several remained in the roof, and Colonel O’Neill clapped his hands over the demon’s success.
Thus far during the battle not a shot had been fired from the fort. The allies wondered at this silence; but they were not cognizant of the thrilling scenes being enacted behind the strong walls.
Lashed to a tree on the river’s bank, and strongly guarded by three white men and two Wyandots, Wolf-Cap saw the discharge of the fiery missiles. Since his arrival among the allies he had seen nothing of Royal Funk; but he knew that that worthy had absented himself but temporarily.
“We’ll get the fort to-night,” said one of the outlaws, turning to Wolf-Cap, during the flight of the blazing shafts.
“Sir, you don’t know who defends it,” the trapper said, quickly, and with pride. “Yon walls protect the bravest men in New Connecticut.”
“But, Captain Strong—what do you think ofhim?” asked the outlaw, with a curious smile.
“He has completely deceived me.”
The white guards exchanged significant glances.
“What do you know about him, Belt?”
“I know that he intends to betray a lot of women and children to the tender mercies of the tomahawk. I’ve seen Mary Sawyer in your camp. I heard the three pistol-shots on the hill. I have heard something about Strong’s antecedents, and, putting things together, I kin read the blackest tale of treason on record.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be in the fort, just now?” taunted Sam Cole, the Night-Hawk.
The trapper’s eyes flashed; but he said nothing.
“But how about that notice you put on your door for us? You said that no walls should protect you while you fought us.”
“I intend to adhere to that declaration,” said Wolf-Cap firmly.
“So you wouldn’t creep into Fort Strong if we war to let you go?”
“I would not!”
The outlaws laughed derisively.
“I’ve a mind to try you,” said Cole, drawing his knife and glancing at his fellow-guards.
Wolf-Cap said nothing.
The place where they stood was thickly studded with young trees and tall grass, the latter much soiled by human feet. A fire some distance down the river threw a weird light over the scene; but toward the fort, in its river front, the depth of darkness prevailed.
The Indian guards gazed at the outlaw with an immobility of countenance, and when he stepped toward the trapper with uplifted knife, they did not interpose a hand. They had lately taken their stations as Wolf Cap’s guards, and had watched the helpless man with vigilant eyes.
“I say I’ve a mind to try you, Wolf-Cap,” reiterated the outlaw.
“No, it won’t do, Sam,” suddenly cried another, springing forward and laying his brawny hand on Cole’s shoulder. “He’ll escape if you cut his cords. What do a squatter’s words amount to? Let him be!”
For a moment Cole glared fiercely upon the speaker, and then sullenly dropped the knife again.
“I’ve heard that Card Belt is a man of his word,” he said. “And I want to try ’im.”
With the last word the outlaw shook the hand from his shoulder, and stepped toward the trapper again.
“Don’t do it, Sam.”
“I will!”
“You shan’t!”
The knife of the last speaker suddenly leaped from its leathern sheath, and he advanced upon Cole, who turned and pushed him back.
“Stand off, Duke White,” were Cole’s menacing words. “I don’t want a difficulty with you. I know what I’m doing. I’ll try Wolf-Cap if I wish to.”
“You shall not!” and White tried to step between Cole and the captive.
But, with a fierce oath, Cole hurled Duke from the tree. Duke recovered in a moment, and with all the baser passions of his soul fully aroused, he sprung at his Titan comrade.
Cole saw the movement, and received the attack with theknife, for it was apparent that the blood of a Night-Hawk had to be shed by a brother’s hand.
I say that Cole met the attack with the knife, and blood flowed from the wound inflicted in Duke White’s breast by the shining steel. The next moment they had grappled, and swayed to and fro in the struggle of life and death like contending giants.
The third white guard started forward to strike Cole with clubbed rifle, when one of the Indians, with a quick glance at his companion, leaped toward the tree.
A knife flashed in the brave’s hands, and when it descended Wolf-Cap sprung from the sycamore—free! He saw the second savage hurl the third guard into the murky waves of the Huron, and glanced at the struggling Night-Hawks, now on the ground.
“Wolf-Cap run down the river,” said the trapper’s deliverer, quickly pointing down the stream.
“No! I go to the fort, Silver Hand. Seek the black cave. I’ll meet you there at dawn. Quick! They come.”
He spoke in the Wyandot tongue, and the next instant bounded toward the fort. He glided rapidly through the gloom, avoiding the numerous stumps, and yells on the river-bank told him that the deed just enacted there had been discovered.
But he ran on, unarmed, save with a knife, which Silver Hand had thrust into his grip, and he struck the ponderous gate of the palisade twice with the bony hilt.
“Guard! guard!” he shouted, and then he heard the sentry speak to some one beyond the pickets.
“Listen! I know that voice.”
“’Tis me—Wolf-Cap,” called the trapper quickly upon the guard’s words. “I don’t want to get in. Captain Strong is a traitor; he has promised to betray you into the hands of the Indians!”
A moment of silence followed. The trapper had paused for breath.
“Your roof is on fire. Put it out, and see to the traitor. Hold out like men. You’ll get help from outside by-and-by.”
Then Wolf-Cap turned from the gate and started toward the river.