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 his 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 horrible spectacle. 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
way 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