was turned into a muddy, splashing, turbulent torrent. The
mounted warriors urged their steeds down the bank and into the
water; the unmounted improvised rafts and placed their weapons and
ammunition upon them; then they swam and pushed, kicked and yelled
their way across; other Indians swam, holding the bridles of the
pack-horses. A detachment of British soldiers followed the Indians.
In an hour the entire army appeared on the river bluff not three
hundred yards from the Fort. They were in no hurry to begin the
attack. Especially did the Indians seem to enjoy the lull before the
storm, and as they stalked to and fro in plain sight of the
garrison, or stood in groups watching the Fort, they were seen in
all their hideous war-paint and formidable battle-array. They were
exultant. Their plumes and eagle feathers waved proudly in the
morning breeze. Now and then the long, peculiarly broken yell of the
Shawnees rang out clear and strong. The soldiers were drawn off to
one side and well out of range of the settlers' guns. Their red
coats and flashing bayonets were new to most of the little band of
men in the block-house.

"Ho, the Fort!"

It was a strong, authoritative voice and came from a man mounted on
a black horse.

"Well, Girty, what is it?" shouted Silas Zane.

"We demand unconditional surrender," was the answer.

"You will never get it," replied Silas.

"Take more time to think it over. You see we have a force here large
enough to take the Fort in an hour."

"That remains to be seen," shouted some one through porthole.

An hour passed. The soldiers and the Indians lounged around on the
grass and walked to and fro on the bluff. At intervals a taunting
Indian yell, horrible in its suggestiveness came floating on the
air. When the hour was up three mounted men rode out in advance of
the waiting Indians. One was clad in buckskin, another in the
uniform of a British officer, and the third was an Indian chief
whose powerful form was naked except for his buckskin belt and
legging.

"Will you surrender?" came in the harsh and arrogant voice of the
renegade.

"Never! Go back to your squaws!" yelled Sullivan.

"I am Capt. Pratt of the Queen's Rangers. If you surrender I will
give you the best protection King George affords," shouted the
officer.

"To hell with lying George! Go back to your hair-buying Hamilton and
tell him the whole British army could not make us surrender," roared
Hugh Bennet.

"If you do