cape, fled to a large log house used as a granary, threw themselves
into it, barred the doors heavily, and began to fire from the upper
windows, small openings usually closed with boards. Other Indians from
the covert of house, tepee, or tree, fired upon the assailants, and a
fresh battle began in the town.

The riflemen, directed by their leaders, met the new situation promptly.
Fired upon from all sides, at least twenty rushed into a house some
forty yards from that of Braxton Wyatt. Others seized another house,
while the rest remained outside, sheltered by little outhouses, trees,
or inequalities of the earth, and maintained rapid sharpshooting in
reply to the Iroquois in the town or to Braxton Wyatt's men in the
house. Now the combat became fiercer than ever. The warriors uttered
yells, and Wyatt's men in the house sent forth defiant shouts. From
another part of the town came shrill cries of old squaws, urging on
their fighting men.

It was now about four o'clock in the morning. The thunder and lightning
had ceased, but the soft rain was still falling. The Indians had lighted
fires some distance away. Several carried torches. Helped by these, and,
used so long to the night, the combatants saw distinctly. The five lay
behind a low embankment, and they paid their whole attention to the big
house that sheltered Wyatt and his men. On the sides and behind they
were protected by Heemskerk and others, who faced a coming swarm.

"Keep low, Paul," said Henry, restraining his eager comrade. "Those
fellows in the house can shoot, and we don't want to lose you. There,
didn't I tell you!"

A bullet fired from the window passed through the top of Paul's cap, but
clipped only his hair. Before the flash from the window passed, Long Jim
fired in return, and something fell back inside. Bullets came from other
windows. Shif'less Sol fired, and a Seneca fell forward banging half out
of the window, his naked body a glistening brown in the firelight. But
he hung only a few seconds. Then he fell to the ground and lay still.
The five crouched low again, waiting a new opportunity. Behind them, and
on either side, they heard the crash of the new battle and challenging
cries.

Braxton Wyatt, Coleman, four more Tories, and six Indians were still
alive in the strong log house. Two or three were wounded, but they
scarcely noticed it in the passion of conflict. The house was a
veritable fortress, and the renegade's hopes rose high as he hear