ould talk to a man a mile away. Why?"

"Because I may want you to give out some terrible yells soon, the white
man's yells, understand, and, as you give 'em, you're to skip about like
lightning from place to place. This is a case in which one man must seem
to be a hundred."

"I understand, Henry," said Long Jim proudly, tapping his chest. "I
reckon I'm to be the figger in this fight, an', bein' ez so much is
dependin' on me, I won't fail. My lungs wuz never better. I've had a new
leather linin' put inside 'em, an' they kin work without stoppin', day
an' night, fur a week."

"All right, Jim. Do your proudest, and the others are to help, but
you're to be the yell leader, and the better you yell the better it will
be for all of us."

"I'll be right thar Henry."

"They'll soon be in sight," said the shiftless one, who had not taken
his ear from the ground. "I kin hear the wheels a-creakin' and
a-creakin', louder an' louder."

"And they have not sent forward anybody to spy out the country, which is
better for us," said Henry.

"An' now I kin hear somethin' else," said Shif'less Sol. "They're
singin' a war song which ain't usual when so many are on the march, but
they reckon they've got at least two or three hundred white scalps ez
good ez took already."

Now the ferocious chant, sung in Shawnee, which they understood, came
plainly to them. It was a song of anticipation, and when they translated
it to themselves it ran something like this:

To the land of Kaintuckee we have come,
Wielders of the bow and the tomahawk, we,
Shawnee and Miami, Wyandot and Delaware
Matchless in march and battle we come,
Great is Manitou.

The white man will fall like leaves before us,
His houses to the fire we will give,
All shall perish under our mighty blows,
And the forest will grow over his home,
Great is Manitou.

It went on in other verses, rising above the creak of the wheels, a
fierce, droning chant that drummed upon the nerves and inflamed the
brain. Much of its power came from its persistency upon the same beat
and theme, until the great chorus became like the howling of thousands
of wolves for their prey.

"Ef I couldn't feel my scalp on my head right now," said Shif'less Sol,
"I'd be shore that one o' them demons out thar had it in his hands,
whirlin' it 'roun' an' 'roun'."

"Guess I won't need nothin' more to make me yell my very darndest," said
Long Jim.

"They'll