k that they could not see the end
of the melancholy line, now moving slowly, overborne by weariness. The
shiftless one shook his head sadly.

"No matter what happens, some uv 'em will never get out o' these woods."

His words came true all too soon. Before the afternoon closed, two
women, ill before the flight, died of terror and exhaustion, and were
buried in shallow graves under the trees. Before dark a halt was made at
the suggestion of Henry, and all except Carpenter and the scouts sat in
a close, drooping group. Many of the children cried, though the women
had all ceased to weep. They had some food with them, taken in the
hurried flight, and now the men asked them to eat. Few could do it, and
others insisted on saving what little they had for the children. Long
Jim found a spring near by, and all drank at it.

The six men decided that, although night had not yet come, it would be
best to remain there until the morning. Evidently the fugitives were in
no condition, either mental or physical, to go farther that day, and the
rest was worth more than the risk.

When this decision was announced to them, most of the women took it
apathetically. Soon they lay down upon a blanket, if one was to be had;
otherwise, on leaves and branches. Again Henry thanked God that it was
summer, and that these were people of the frontier, who could sleep in
the open. No fire was needed, and, outside of human enemies, only rain
was to be dreaded.

And yet this band, desperate though its case, was more fortunate than
some of the others that fled from the Wyoming Valley. It had now to
protect it six men Henry and Paul, though boys in years, were men in
strength and ability--five of whom were the equals of any frontiersmen
on the whole border. Another crowd of women was escorted by a single man
throughout its entire flight.

Henry and his comrades distributed themselves in a circle about the
group. At times they helped gather whortleberries as food for the
others, but they looked for Indians or game, intending to shoot in
either case. When Paul and Henry were together they once heard a light
sound in a thicket, which at first they were afraid was made by an
Indian scout, but it was a deer, and it bounded away too soon for either
to get a shot. They could not find other game of any kind, and they came
back toward the camp-if a mere stop in the woods, without shelter of any
kind, could be called a camp.

The sun was now setting, blood r