and most of the stores were dry, but every man
whether in a tent or not was wet to the skin.

It was obvious that they could not go on and attack Piqua at once, as
they would arrive far in the night, and the most skilled of the
borderers were ordered to try their cunning at lighting fires. Patience
and persistence had their reward. The bark was stripped from fallen
trees, and dry splinters were cut from it. When these were lighted with
flint and steel the problem was solved. Heat triumphed over wet, and
soon twenty glorious fires were blazing in the forest. The men were
allowed to dry their clothes in relays, each relay baring itself and
holding its clothes before the fire until the last touch of damp was
gone.

All the time a vigilant watch was kept in the woods. Indians might
attack when their enemy was depressed by storm and wet, but nothing to
disturb the peace of the drying army occurred. Wolves howled again far
away but they were still prowling among the ruins of Chillicothe,
seeking unburned portions of venison or other meat. After the storm the
close oppressive heat disappeared. A fresh and cool wind blew. Out came
the moon and stars and they shone in a silky blue. The leaves and grass
began to dry. The five lay down within range of the fires. Shif'less Sol
made himself very comfortable on his blanket.

"I don't want anybody to bother me now," he said, "'cause I'm goin' to
sleep all through the night. No Injuns will be roun' here disturbin' me,
an' I don't want no white man to try it either."

The shiftless one knew what he was talking about, as there was no alarm
in the night and early the next morning the army began its march again.
But Henry was sure there would be a fierce fight at Piqua.

They still followed the Indian road, and now went a little faster,
although never breaking their old formation for a single instant. Yet
every heart throbbed. They would soon be at Piqua, face to face with the
allied forces led by their best chiefs. It was likely that their fire
would burst from their undergrowth at any moment. But the scouts still
reported nothing. Most of the morning was gone and they came to a broad
but shallow stream. It was Mad River, and Piqua was not more than a mile
up its stream.

"Surely they will fight us here," was the thought of Clark. He halted
his army and the scouts crossed the stream at many points. They beat up
the woods and found no enemy, although Piqua was so near. Then the orde