zed, for he had remained voiceless during
the stirring events. And it had all been a matter of a few minutes. I
jumped through the doorway just as a young man began closing it. The
Shawnees were yelling like demons and approaching to close range very
cautiously, feeling out each rod of the ground.

The sally of the young men had taught them they could not have all things
their own way. I scouted toward the fort to make sure all the women and
children had made cover, but before I could reach the log walls I heard
Dale's voice shouting for attention. I dropped behind a stump, and as the
savages ceased their howling I heard him hoarsely crying:

"It is the Pack-Horse-Man speaking. Do the Shawnees fire guns at the
Pack-Horse-Man? My friends live here. Do the Shawnees hurt the friends of
the Pack-Horse-Man? I give you a belt to wash the red paint from your
faces. I give you a belt to make the road smooth between the Greenbriar
and the Scioto. By this belt the nettles and rocks shall be removed from
the road. I will cover the bones of your dead, if any fell to-night, with
many presents."

He was either very brave or crazy. For now he left the cabin and began
walking toward the hidden Shawnees, his confident voice repeating the fact
he was the red man's friend, that he brought white belts, that the red and
white men should eat from one dish, and that a hole should be dug to the
middle of the earth and the war-ax buried there and a mighty river turned
from its ancient bed to flow over the spot so that the ax could never be
found.

His amazing boldness brought the hush of death over cabins and forts. My
horse, secured in the small stockaded paddock near the fort, whinnied for
me to come to him, and his call in that tense stillness set my nerves to
jumping madly. Dale was now close to the warriors. Every minute I expected
to see a streak of fire, or hear the crunch of an ax. Trailing my rifle
and bent double, I stole after him. From the forest a deep voice shouted:

"The belts of the Pack-Horse-Man are good belts. Black Hoof's warriors do
not harm the friends of the Pack-Horse-Man. Sleep with your cabin doors
open to-night and you shall hear nothing but the call of the night birds
and the voice of the little owl talking with the dead."

I now discovered that the Shawnees had silently retreated to the woods at
the beginning of Dale's advance. The declaration of peace as given by the
Indian--and I was convinced it was the famo