kind, was again making the effort to fire the block-house.

The eyes of Col. Zane and his companions were fastened on the light as it came
nearer and nearer with its changing motion. The burning cabin brightened the

square before the Fort. The slender, shadowy figure of the Indian could be
plainly seen emerging from the gloom. So swiftly did he run that he seemed to

have wings. Now he was in the full glare of the light. What a magnificent
nerve, what a terrible assurance there was in his action! It seemed to

paralyze all. The red arrow emitted a shower of sparks as it was discharged.
This time it winged its way straight and true and imbedded itself in the roof

of the block-house.
Almost at the same instant a solitary rifle shot rang out and the daring

warrior plunged headlong, sliding face downward in the dust of the road, while
from the Fort came that demoniac yell now grown so familiar.

"Wetzel's compliments," muttered Jonathan. "But the mischief is done. Look at
that damned burning arrow. If it doesn't blow out the Fort will go."

The arrow was visible, but it seemed a mere spark. It alternately paled and
glowed. One moment it almost went out, and the next it gleamed brightly. To

the men, compelled to look on and powerless to prevent the burning of the now
apparently doomed block-house, that spark was like the eye of Hell.

"Ho, the Fort," yelled Col. Zane with all the power of hit strong lungs. "Ho,
Silas, the roof is on fire!"

Pandemonium had now broken out among the Indians. They could be plainly seen
in the red glare thrown by the burning cabin. It had been a very dry season,

the rough shingles were like tinder, and the inflammable material burst
quickly into great flames, lighting up the valley as far as the edge of the

forest. It was an awe-inspiring and a horriblespectacle. Columns of yellow
and black smoke rolled heavenward; every object seemed dyed a deep crimson;

the trees assumed fantastic shapes; the river veiled itself under a red glow.
Above the roaring and crackling of the flames rose the inhuman yelling of the

savages. Like demons of the inferno they ran to and fro, their naked painted
bodies shining in the glare. One group of savages formed a circle and danced

hands-around a stump as gayly as a band of school-girls at a May party. They
wrestled with and hugged one another; they hopped, skipped and jumped, and in

every possible war manifested their fiendish joy.
The British took no part in this revelry. To their credit it must be said they

kept in the background as though ashamed of this horrible fire-war on people
of their own blood.

"Why don't they fire the cannon?" impatiently said Col. Zane. "Why don't they
do something?"

"Perhaps it is disabled, or maybe they are short of ammunition," suggested
Jonathan.

"The block-house will burn down before our eyes. Look! The hell-hounds have
set fire to the fence. I see men running and throwing water."

"I see something on the roof of the block-house," crier Jonathan. "There, down
towards the east end of the roof and in the shadow of the chimney. And as I'm

a living sinner it's a man crawling towards that blazing arrow. The Indians
have not discovered him yet. He is still in the shadow. But they'll see him.

God! What a nervy thing to do in the face of all those redskins. It is almost
certain death.!"

"Yes, and they see him," said the Colonel.
With shrill yells the Indians bounded forward and aimed and fired their rifles

at the crouching figure of the man. Some hid behind the logs they had rolled
toward the Fort; others boldly faced the steady fire now pouring from the

portholes. The savages saw in the movement of that man an attempt to defeat
their long-cherished hope of burning the Fort. Seeing he was discovered, the

man did not hesitate, nor did he lose a second. Swiftly he jumped and ran
toward the end of the roof where the burning arrow, now surrounded by blazing

shingles, was sticking in the roof. How he ever ran along that slanting roof
and with a pail in his hand was incomprehensible. In moments like that men

become superhuman. It all happened in an instant. He reached the arrow, kicked
it over the wall, and then dashed the bucket of water on the blazing shingles.

In that single instant, wherein his tall form was outlined against the bright
light behind him, he presented the fairest kind of a mark for the Indians.

Scores of rifles were levelled and discharged at him. The bullets pattered
like hail on the roof of the block-house, but apparently none found their

mark, for the man ran back and disappeared.
"It was Clarke!" exclaimed Col. Zane. "No one but Clarke has such light hair.

Wasn't that a plucky thing?"
"It has saved the block-house for to-night," answered Jonathan. "See, the

Indians are falling back. They can't stand in the face of that shooting.
Hurrah! Look at them fall! It could not have happened better. The light from

the cabin will prevent any more close attacks for an hour and daylight is
near."

CHAPTER XIV.
The sun rose red. Its ruddy rays peeped over the eastern hills, kissed the

tree-tops, glinted along the stony bluffs, and chased away the gloom of night
from the valley. Its warm gleams penetrated the portholes of the Fort and cast

long bright shadows on the walls; but it brought little cheer to the sleepless
and almost exhausted defenders. If brought to many of the settlers the

familiar old sailor's maxim: "Redness 'a the morning, sailor's warning."
Rising in its crimson glory the sun flooded the valley, dyeing the river, the

leaves, the grass, the stones, tingeing everything with that awful color which
stained the stairs, the benches, the floor, even the portholes of the

block-house.
Historians call this the time that tried men's souls. If it tried the men

think what it must have been to those grand, heroic women. Though they had
helped the men load and fire nearly forty-eight hours; though they had worked

without a moment's rest and were now ready to succumb to exhaustion, though
the long room was full of stifling smoke and the sickening odor of burned wood

and powder, and though the row of silent, covered bodies had steadily
lengthened, the thought of giving up never occurred to the women. Death there

would be sweet compared to what it would be at the hands of the redmen.
At sunrise Silas Zane, bare-chested, his face dark and fierce, strode into the

bastion which was connected with the blockhouse. It was a small shedlike room,
and with portholes opening to the river and the forest. This bastion had seen

the severest fighting. Five men had been killed here. As Silas entered four
haggard and powder-begrimed men, who were kneeling before the portholes,

looked up at him. A dead man lay in one corner.
"Smith's dead. That makes fifteen," said Silas. "Fifteen out of forty-two,

that leaves twenty-seven. We must hold out. Len, don't expose yourselves
recklessly. How goes it at the south bastion?"

"All right. There's been firin' over there all night," answered one of the
men. "I guess it's been kinder warm over that way. But I ain't heard any

shootin' for some time."
"Young Bennet is over there, and if the men needed any thing they would send

him for it," answered Silas. "I'll send some food and water. Anything else?"
"Powder. We're nigh out of powder," replied the man addressed. "And we might

jes as well make ready fer a high old time. The red devils hadn't been quiet
all this last hour fer nothin'."

Silas passed along the narrow hallway which led from the bastion into the main
room of the block-house. As he turned the corner at the head of the stairway

he encountered a boy who was dragging himself up the steps.
"Hello! Who's this? Why, Harry!" exclaimed Silas, grasping the boy and drawing

him into the room. Once in the light Silas saw that the lad was so weak he
could hardly stand. He was covered with blood. It dripped from a bandage wound

tightly about his arm; it oozed through a hole in his hunting shirt, and it
flowed from a wound over his temple. The shadow of death was already stealing

over the pallid face, but from the grey eyes shone an indomitable spirit, a
spirit which nothing but death could quench.

"Quick!" the lad panted. "Send men to the south wall. The redskins are
breakin' in where the water from the spring runs under the fence."

"Where are Metzar and the other men?"
"Dead! Killed last night. I've been there alone all night. I kept on shootin'.

Then I gets plugged here under the chin. Knowin' it's all up with me I
deserted my post when I heard the Injuns choppin' on the fence where it was on

fire last night. But I only--run--because--they're gettin' in."
"Wetzel, Bennet, Clarke!" yelled Silas, as he laid the boy on the bench.