nced as she
passed the lick-block and got a glimpse of the dead savage and the dead
dog. Then her gaze remained steady on her father's calm face.

Black Hoof said something, but there was a pounding in my ears which
prevented me from hearing it. I guessed it, though, when Dale called out:

"All you who would be spared come out and leave your guns behind!"

He had barely spoken before the Englishman's voice excitedly called:

"You two scouts in there."

I gave him heed and he informed me: "Granville and his sister say they are
going out. Do you go out?"

"We shall stay here. It's better for you to die where you are," I told
him.

"Ay, I think it's better myself. Well, I'm old and hungry to be with the
children again."

The Englishman was a brave man, and very sensible. He recognized Fate when
it paused to stare him in the eye. My companion was panting for breath and
was standing back so as to rest the muzzle of his rifle just inside the
loophole. A glance revealed his deadly purpose. A tall warrior was now on
his feet. I knew him to be Black Hoof. I had seen him at Fort Pitt during
one of those rare lulls between wars.

Cousin was fairly out of his head with the lust to kill the chief, but the
Shawnee took no chances. He was careful to keep the girl and her father
between him and the cabins. I pushed Cousin's gun aside and fiercely
upbraided him for placing the Dales' lives in jeopardy.

"You fool!" he cried. "They're gone already. Are you, too, blind? If you
love that gal out there and want to do her the greatest kindness a man can
ever do to a border woman, shoot her!"

Granville began shouting:

"Me 'n' my sister are comin' out. We surrender. Tell 'em, Mr. Dale! God
knows 'nough blood's been spilt."

I heard their cabin door open. Then it closed with a bang and we heard the
heavy bar drop into place. For a moment I believed they had changed their
minds; then they crossed our line of vision, the man walking ahead with
empty hands held high, his sister walking behind and wildly waving a white
cloth. It was the Englishman, skeptical, because of our advice, who
dropped the bar.

Cousin began muttering under his breath. I soon discovered the reason.
John Ward was approaching the group from the opposite side of the valley
and trying to keep some of the whites between him and our cabin. The
nearer he drew to the group, the easier this maneuver was. Ward had made a
half-circuit of the valley and was advancing