ed again,
in a hardly audible whisper; but this time, Ethan, though perhaps his
heart was with her, was thinking of something else. She felt more calm
after her prayer, though the dense smoke and the snapping flames
admonished her that death was close at hand. The rough prairie boy
looked resolute, and seemed to have conquered his fears. She wondered
whether he had discovered any possible avenue of escape, for nothing
but the promptings of a strong hope, whether real or delusive, could
have produced such a change in his bearing.

"Better be burned up, than butchered by the redskins," said he, at
last.

Was this the explanation of his new-born courage? It was a terrible
alternative, but Fanny was forced to believe that what he said was
true.

"Is there no escape for us?"

"Don'no; whar's the Injins now?"

"I don't hear them," replied Fanny.

"Nuther do I. We must stay here jest as long as we kin."

"But the barn is on fire! If we are going to get out at all, we must do
so at once."

"Don't hurry. The fire's all out to t'other end o' the barn. It won't
hurt us jest yit," said Ethan, with wonderful coolness. "I s'pose the
Injins is in a hurry, and they won't stop no longer'n they want to.
Jest as soon as they move off we'll git out."

"How shall we get out after the barn is all in a blaze?"

"That's easy enough. I ain't a bit afeered of the fire, but I am pesky
skeered of the Injins."

The confidence of Ethan increased the courage of Fanny. She had more to
dread from the Indians than he had, and if he preferred to die by the
flames, she ought to be willing to share his fate. She commended her
soul and that of her companion to God, and tried to be calm and
resolute, and she succeeded to an extent which astonished herself.

The fire was rapidly leaping upward, and the barn was soon enveloped in
flames. The Indians could not now be seen through the cracks, nor could
their voices be heard, and the fire-besieged fugitives supposed they
had gone to new fields of blood and rapine.

"We can't stand it much longer--kin we?" said Ethan, as they heard the
crash of some falling timbers at the other end of the building.

"We are not burned yet, but I am nearly suffocated by the smoke,"
replied Fanny. "Do you suppose the Indians are gone?"

"I reckon they be; but they hain't gone fur yit," added Ethan, as he
applied his shoulder to one of the boards on the side of the barn.

"Let me help you," said Fanny.

"You ai