d the Indian scent offended him. He
looked down and saw a bit of feather, dropped no doubt from some defiant
scalp lock. He picked it up, held it to his nose a moment, and then,
when the offensive odor assailed him again, he cast it away.

Another dozen steps forward, and he sank down in a clump of grass,
blending perfectly with the green, and absolutely motionless. Thirty
yards away two Shawnee warriors in all the savage glory of their war
paint, naked save for breechcloths, were passing, examining the woods
with careful eye. Yet they did not see Henry Ware, and, when they turned
and went back, he followed noiselessly after them, his figure still
hidden in the green wood.

The two Shawnees, walking lightly, went on up the valley which broadened
out as they advanced, but which was still thickly clothed in forest and
undergrowth. Skilled as they were in the forest, they probably never
dreamed of the enemy who hung on their trail with a skill surpassing
their own.

Henry followed them for a full two miles, and then he saw them join a
group of Indians under the trees, whom he knew by their dress and
bearing to be chiefs. They were tall, middle-aged, and they wore
blankets of green or dark blue, probably bought at the British outposts.
Behind them, almost hidden in the forest, Henry saw many other dark
faces, eager, intense, waiting to be let loose on the foe, whom they
regarded as already in the trap.

Henry waited, while the two scouts whom he had followed so well,
delivered to the chief their message. He saw them beckon to the warriors
behind them, speak a few words to them, and then he saw two savage
forces slip off in the forest, one to the right and one to the left. On
the instant he divined their purpose. They were to flank the little
white army, while another division stood ready to attack in front. Then
the ambush would be complete, and Henry saw the skill of the savage
general whoever he might be.

The plan must be frustrated at once, and Henry Ware never hesitated. He
must bring on the battle, before his own people were surrounded, and
raising his rifle he fired with deadly aim at one of the chiefs who fell
on the grass. Then the youth raised the wild and thrilling cry, which he
had learned from the savages themselves, and sped back toward the white
force.

The death cry of the Shawnee and the hostile war whoop rang together
filling the forest and telling that the end of stealth and cunning, and
the begin