and the Prairie Kickapoos from the
Wabash River on the east.

However, the block-house was not a very stirring place; and when in the
evening of August 30 the Lieutenant Jurney men saw a bunch of Indians
reconnoitering at a short distance out, they had high hopes of a little
"brush" in the morning.

They rode through the gate before daylight, to surprise the Indian
camp; but ere sun-up they had been surprised, themselves, on the edge
of some timber. At the first volley the lieutenant had been badly
wounded, three of the men had fallen, and far out-numbered the six
other men, taking the lieutenant, had raced madly for safety in the
fort.

The smoke hung so thickly in the still, damp air that they got away
without trouble--all except Ranger Higgins.

He had not gone far. Instead of making to the fort he had sprung from
his horse and "treed" (the Kentucky way); and in the smoke cover he had
stayed for "one more pull at the redskins." That was rash, but plucky.
He had often said that he did not fear "trash" like the "beggarly
Kickapoos, Saukees, and such." Kentucky was his home, and he had been
reared on stories of the Shawnees, Wyandots and Miamis.

So he waited, behind his tree, until the smoke thinned. Soon he
glimpsed several Indians; he took aim, fired, killed one, reloaded, and
leaped upon his horse. The Indians had not seen him; he would reach
the fort and report that he had accomplished a little, anyway.

Just as he tightened rein a voice stopped him. It seemed to come from
underfoot.

"Tom! Say, you aren't going to leave me?"

That was Joe Burgess, a comrade, trying to crawl to him.

"No, I won't. Come on, Joe. Get aboard. Quick! We'll make in,
double."

"Can't do it, Tom. Leg's busted."

Joe's ankle had been broken by a bullet. Tom, a fine big fellow, was
off in a second, picked Joe up bodily, carried him to the horse--and
away the horse bolted, without either of them. It had smelled Indians.

"By ginger, but that's a mean trick," Tom rapped. "Never mind. You
make a three-legged crawl of it; keep to the tall grass and hug the
ground like a snake. I'll cover your trail and fight the Injuns off."

A brave man, he let Joe disappear in the tall grass of the prairie.
First he thought that he'd follow. But that wouldn't do. The smoke
was drifting slowly and clearing; the Indians would see him--would see
the trail, anyway, and kill Joe if they didn't kill him, himself.

He dived for