"Brave girl, so help me God, you are going to do it!" cried Col. Zane,

throwing open the door. "I know you can. Run as you never ran in all your
life."

Like an arrow sprung from a bow Betty flashed past the Colonel and out on the
green. Scarcely ten of the long hundred yards had been covered by her flying

feet when a roar of angry shouts and yells warned Betty that the keen-eyed
savages saw the bag of powder and now knew they had been deceived by a girl.

The cracking of rifles began at a point on the blur nearest Col. Zane's house,
and extended in a half circle to the eastern end of the clearing. The leaden

messengers of Death whistled past Betty. They sped before her and behind her,
scattering pebbles in her path, striking up the dust, and ploughing little

furrows in the ground. A quarter of the distance covered! Betty had passed the
top of the knoll now and she was going down the gentle slope like the wind.

None but a fine marksman could have hit that small, flitting figure. The
yelling and screeching had become deafening. The reports of the rifles blended

in a roar. Yet above it all Betty heard Wetzel's stentorian yell. It lent
wings to her feet. Half the distance covered! A hot, stinging pain shot

through Betty's arm, but she heeded it not. The bullets were raining about
her. They sang over her head; hissed close to her ears, and cut the grass in

front of her; they pattered like hail on the stockade-fence, but still
untouched, unharmed, the slender brown figure sped toward the gate.

Three-fourths of the distance covered! A tug at the flying hair, and a long,
black tress cut of by a bullet, floated away on the breeze. Betty saw the big

gate swing; she saw the tall figure of the hunter; she saw her brother. Only a
few more yards! On! On! On! A blinding red mist obscured her sight. She lost

the opening in the fence, but unheeding she rushed on. Another second and she
stumbled; she felt herself grasped by eager arms; she heard the gate slam and

the iron bar shoot into place; then she felt and heard no more.
Silas Zane bounded up the stairs with a doubly precious burden in his arms. A

mighty cheer greeted his entrance. It aroused Alfred Clarke, who had bowed his
head on the bench and had lost all sense of time and place. What were the

women sobbing and crying over? To whom belonged that white face? Of course, it
was the face of the girl he loved. The face of the girl who had gone to her

death. And he writhed in his agony.
Then something wonderful happened. A warm, living flush swept over that pale

face. The eyelids fluttered; they opened, and the dark eyes, radiant,
beautiful, gazed straight into Alfred's.

Still Alfred could not believe his eyes. That pale face and the wonderful eyes
belonged to the ghost of his sweetheart. They had come back to haunt him. Then

he heard a voice.
"O-h! but that brown place burns!"

Alfred saw a bare and shapely arm. Its beauty was marred by a cruel red welt
He heard that same sweet voice laugh and cry together. Then he came back to

life and hope. With one bound he sprang to a porthole.
"God, what a woman!" he said between his teeth, as hi thrust the rifle

forward.
It was indeed not a time for inaction. The Indians, realizing they had been

tricked and had lost a golden opportunity, rushed at the Fort with renewed
energy. They attacked from all sides and with the persistent fury of savages

long disappointed in their hopes. They were received with a scathing, deadly
fire. Bang! roared the cannon, and the detachment of savages dropped their

ladders and fled. The little "bull dog" was turned on its swivel and directed
at another rush of Indians. Bang! and the bullets, chainlinks, and bits of

iron ploughed through the ranks of the enemy. The Indians never lived who
could stand in the face of well-aimed cannon-shot. They fell back. The

settlers, inspired, carried beyond themselves by the heroism of a girl, fought
as they had never fought before. Every shot went to a redskin's heart,

impelled by the powder for which a brave girl had offered her life, guided by
hands and arms of iron, and aimed by eyes as fixed and stern as Fate, every

bullet shed the life-blood of a warrior.
Slowly and sullenly the red men gave way before that fire. Foot by foot they

retired. Girty was seen no more. Fire, the Shawnee chief, lay dead in the road
almost in the same spot where two days before his brother chief, Red Fox, had

bit the dust. The British had long since retreated.
When night came the exhausted and almost famished besiegers sought rest and

food.
The moon came out clear and beautiful, as if ashamed at her traitor's part of

the night before, and brightened up the valley, bathing the Fort, the river,
and the forest in her silver light.

Shortly after daybreak the next morning the Indians, despairing of success,
held a pow-wow. While they were grouped in plain view of the garrison, and

probably conferring over the question of raising the siege, the long, peculiar
whoop of an Indian spy, who had been sent out to watch for the approach of a

relief party, rang out. This seemed a signal for retreat. Scarcely had the
shrill cry ceased to echo in the hills when the Indians and the British,

abandoning their dead, moved rapidly across the river.
After a short interval a mounted force was seen galloping up the creek road.

It proved to be Capt. Boggs, Swearengen, and Williamson with seventy men.
Great was the rejoicing. Capt. Boggs had expected to find only the ashes of

the Forts. And the gallant little garrison, although saddened by the loss of
half its original number, rejoiced that it had repulsed the united forces of

braves and British.
CHAPTER XV.

Peace and quiet reigned ones more at Ft. Henry. Before the glorious autumn
days had waned, the settlers had repaired the damage done to their cabins, and

many of them were now occupied with the fall plowing. Never had the Fort
experienced such busy days. Many new faces were seen in the little

meeting-house. Pioneers from Virginia, from Ft. Pitt, and eastward had learned
that Fort Henry had repulsed the biggest force of Indians and soldiers that

Governor Hamilton and his minions could muster. Settlers from all points along
the rivet were flocking to Col. Zane's settlement. New cabins dotted the

hillside; cabins and barns in all stages of construction could be seen. The
sounds of hammers, the ringing stroke of the axe, and the crashing down of

mighty pines or poplars were heard all day long.
Col. Zane sat oftener and longer than ever before in his favorite seat on his

doorstep. On this evening he had just returned from a hard day in the fields,
and sat down to rest a moment before going to supper. A few days previous

Isaac Zane and Myeerah had come to the settlement. Myeerah brought a treaty of
peace signed by Tarhe and the other Wyandot chieftains. The once implacable

Huron was now ready to be friendly with the white people. Col. Zane and his
brothers signed the treaty, and Betty, by dint of much persuasion, prevailed

on Wetzel to bury the hatchet with the Hurons. So Myeerah's love, like the
love of many other women, accomplished more than years of war and bloodshed.

The genial and happy smile never left Col. Zane's face, and as he saw the
well-laden rafts coming down the river, and the air of liveliness and

animation about the growing settlement, his smile into one of pride and
satisfaction. The prophecy that he had made twelve years before was fulfilled.

His dream was realized. The wild, beautiful spot where he had once built a
bark shack and camped half a year without seeing a white man was now the scene

of a bustling settlement; and he believed he would live to see that settlement
grow into a prosperous city. He did not think of the thousands of acres which

would one day make him a wealthy man. He was a pioneer at heart; he had opened
up that rich new country; he had conquered all obstacles, and that was enough

to make him content.
"Papa, when shall I be big enough to fight bars and bufflers and Injuns?"

asked Noah, stopping in his play and straddling his father's knee.
"My boy, did you not have Indians enough a short time ago?"

"But, papa, I did not get to see any. I heard the shooting and yelling. Sammy
was afraid, but I wasn't. I wanted to look out of the little holes, but they

locked us up in the dark room."
"If that boy ever grows up to be like Jonathan or Wetzel it will be the death

of me," said the Colonel's wife, who had heard the lad's chatter.
"Don't worry, Bessie. When Noah grows to be a man the Indians will be gone."

Col. Zane heard the galloping of a horse and looking up saw Clarke coming down
the road on his black thoroughbred. The Colonel rose and walked out to the