said, young sir, is
coming to pass."

They were following the broad trail left by the Indian army on its
retreat, but not a single warrior appeared to oppose them. There were no
sounds in the woods save those made by themselves. No bark of dog or
signal of savage came from the village which was now just beyond a thin
veil of forest.

Colonel Clark's iron self-control yielded a little. He allowed the men
to hasten somewhat, and they came all at once into the corn field which
Henry and his friends had entered. They saw, beyond, the walls and roofs
of Chillicothe. Colonel Clark instantly ordered a halt. A field of
waving corn could hold a thousand hidden warriors, but Boone, Henry and
the others were already in the corn and announced that nobody was there.
Then the army with a great shout advanced on the run, the wheels of the
cannon grinding down the corn.

In five minutes they were at Chillicothe, and then they saw flames
leaping from the highest houses. The town was on fire and all its people
had fled. The broad trail, littered with fragments, showed that they had
gone towards Piqua. But the army, still kept in battle order, did not
follow yet. It watched the burning of Chillicothe and helped it along.
The soldiers, with the cannon in the center, were drawn up just on the
outside of the town, and, under order of the officers, many of them
seized torches and lighted tepee and wigwam. The dry corn in the fields
and everything else that would burn was set on fire. What would not
burn was trampled to a pulp beneath the feet of men and horses.

Meanwhile the flames spread to every part of the village, united and
fused into one vast conflagration. The sight thrilled and awed even
Henry, Paul, and the others who had seen similar things in the Iroquois
country. But there were not many in that army of white men who felt
pity. This was Chillicothe, the greatest of the Western Indian towns.
Some of them had been held prisoners there. Others had seen their
friends tortured to death at this very place. The wives and children of
many had been taken away to Chillicothe and no one had ever seen or
heard of them again. Here the great Indian forays started and the very
name of Chillicothe was hateful to the white men who had come from
beyond the Ohio to destroy it and the warriors who lived there. They
were glad to see it burning. They rejoiced when wigwams and Council
House crashed down in blazing timbers. It pleased them to see the