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Betty Zane-Part35_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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vainly trying to keep his seat, slipped to the ground. He raised himself once,

then fell backward and lay still. Full two hundred yards was not proof against



Wetzel's deadly smallbore, and Red Fox, the foremost war chieftain of the

Shawnees, lay dead, a victim to the hunter's vengeance. It was characteristic



of Wetzel that he picked the chief, for he could have shot either the British

Oliver or the renegade. They retreated out of range, leaving the body of the



chief where it had fallen, while the horse, giving a frightened snort,

galloped toward the woods. Wetzel's yell coming quickly after his shot,



excited the Indians to a very frenzy, and they started on a run for the Fort,

discharging their rifles and screeching like so many demons.



In the cloud of smoke which at once enveloped the scene the Indians spread out

and surrounded the Fort. A tremendous rush by a large party of Indians was



made for the gate of the Fort. They attacked it fiercely with their tomahawks,

and a log which they used as a battering-ram. But the stout gate withstood



their united efforts, and the galling fire from the portholes soon forced them

to fall back and seek cover behind the trees and the rocks. From these points



of vantage they kept up an uninterrupted fire.

The soldiers had made a dash at the stockade-fence, yelling derision at the



small French cannon which was mounted on top of the block-house. They thought

it a "dummy" because they had learned that in the 1777 siege the garrison had



no real cannon, but had tried to utilize a wooden one. They yelled and hooted

and mocked at this piece and dared the garrison to fire it. Sullivan, who was



in charge of the cannon, bided his time. When the soldiers were massed closely

together and making another rush for the stockade-fence Sullivan turned loose



the little "bulldog," spreading consternation and destruction in the British

ranks.



"Stand back! Stand back!" Capt. Pratt was heard to yell. "By God! there's no

wood about that gun."



After this the besiegers withdrew for a breathing spell. At this early stage

of the siege the Indians were seen to board Sullivan's pirogue, and it was



soon discovered they were carrying the cannon balls from the boat to the top

of the bluff. In their simple minds they had conceived a happy thought. They



procured a white-oak log probably a foot in diameter, split it through the

middle and hollowed out the inside with their tomahawks. Then with iron chains



and bars, which they took from Reihart's blacksmith shop, they bound and

securely fastened the sides together. They dragged the improvised cannon



nearer to the Fort, placed it on two logs and weighted it down with stones. A

heavy charge of powder and ball was then rammed into the wooden gun. The



soldiers, though much interested in the manoeuvre, moved back to a safe

distance, while many of the Indians crowded round the new weapon. The torch



was applied; there was a red flash-boom! The hillside was shaken by the

tremendousexplosion, and when the smoke lifted from the scene the naked forms



of the Indians could be seen writhing in agony on the ground. Not a vestige of

the wooden gun remained. The iron chains had proved terrible death-dealing



missiles to the Indians near the gun. The Indians now took to their natural

methods of warfare. They hid in the long grass, in the deserted cabins, behind



the trees and up in the branches. Not an Indian was visible, but the rain of

bullets pattered steadily against the block-house. Every bush and every tree



spouted little puffs of white smoke, and the leaden messengers of Death

whistled through the air.



After another unsuccessful effort to destroy a section of the stockade-fence

the soldiers had retired. Their red jackets made them a conspicuous mark for



the sharp-eyed settlers. Capt. Pratt had been shot through the thigh. He

suffered great pain, and was deeply chagrined by the surprising and formidable



defense of the garrison which he had been led to believe would fall an easy

prey to the King's soldiers. He had lost one-third of his men. Those who were



left refused to run straight in the face of certain death. They had not been

drilled to fight an unseen enemy. Capt. Pratt was compelled to order a retreat



to the river bluff, where he conferred with Girty.

Inside the block-house was great activity, but no confusion. That little band



of fighters might have been drilled for a king's bodyguard. Kneeling before

each porthole on the river side of the Fort was a man who would fight while



there was breath left in him. He did not discharge his weapon aimlessly as the

Indians did, but waited until he saw the outline of an Indian form, or a red



coat, or a puff of white smoke; then he would thrust the rifle-barrel forward,

take a quick aim and fire. By the side of every man stood a heroic woman whose






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