een. He tried that, and
it worked. After he had cooked and eaten, he slept in the smoke, which
kept the mosquitoes off. Assuredly, young James Paull knew how to take
care of himself.

In two days more he reached the Ohio River above Wheeling. On account
of his foot and his gun he could not swim it. No matter. He made a
raft of logs tied together with vines and strips of bark, and paddled
over.

There he saw some horses grazing in a bottom. He must have a horse.
He fashioned a halter from twisted bark, and hobbled about, trying to
catch a mount. He limped and coaxed and sweated for two hours. The
horses were frisky and suspicious. Every time he stalked one and was
about to lay his hand upon its mane, it tossed its head and with a
snort galloped away.

Finally he managed to grab the worst of the lot--an old mare. On her
he rode on, down to Short Creek, where he found all the settlers
gathered in the little fort there, under Major Sam McColloch, expecting
an attack by the Indians who had defeated Colonel Crawford's column.

Other refugees from the battle-field had brought the alarming news. He
was asked many questions--about Colonel Crawford, and Doctor Knight,
and John Slover, and the score who were missing with them. He could
tell little. All he knew, was, that he had escaped, and that he wished
to get word to his mother, down in Virginia.

He did not stay. He borrowed a better horse and hastened on--got as
far as the cabin of his cousins, and here he had to stay and treat his
foot. At first he feared that it ought to be cut off. It was a
frightful looking foot, swollen and red and poisoned. However, in
about ten days it grew better. He traveled down to his mother. She
was in their cabin doorway, peering up the road.

"Jim!"

"Mother!"

She welcomed him as one back from the land of the dead. News was slow,
in those days. Nevertheless--

"I knew you'd come--I knew you'd come," she sobbed, gladly, as he held
her in his arms. For she was a widow and he was her only boy.

It was different with Mrs. Crawford and many another wife and mother.
Mrs. Crawford waited day after day, for word from her husband, the
gallant colonel. At last it arrived, with Doctor Knight, and all the
border heard.

The brave and courtly Colonel William Crawford had been tortured and
burned. So had his gallant young son, John--and others.

Mrs. Crawford never got over that loss. She loved her husband
devotedly