ne. It was the quickest way to
learn what would happen next. Something was due to happen, whether
they signed or not.

Now Chief Black Fish had his turn. He stood forward and made a speech.
An oily old rascal, he. This was a treaty between two great white
nations, and with a red nation, too, he said. It must be sealed in
Indian fashion. Each Long Knife chief should shake hands with two
Indians. Such was the Shawnee custom. Then they would be as brothers.

That struck the Daniel Boone men as something new. However, they had
got in too deep to stick at trifles, but they smelled a mouse.

"It is good," said Daniel Boone. His muscles tense, his eyes bright,
he stretched out his hand; he was strong and active, the Hancocks,
Colonel Callaway, Squire Boone, Flanders, and all--they were as stout
as buffalo and as quick as panthers; rifle muzzles that rarely missed
were resting upon the port-holes only forty yards to rear, and the
gates were open, waiting.

He stretched out his hand; two Indians at once grasped it--clutched his
arm--

"Go!" shouted Chief Black Fish, exultant.

Instantly Captain Big Turtle was being dragged forward; other Indians
had sprung at him--his eight comrades were wrestling and reeling--with
a twist and a jerk he had flung his captors sprawling--his comrades had
done likewise with theirs and while muskets bellowed and rifles spat
they ran headlong for the gates; got safely in, too, with only Squire
Boone wounded; the gates creaked shut, the bar fell into place, the
peace treaty had been broken almost as soon as made, and Fort
Boonesborough was in for a fight.

A deluge of hot lead swept against the walls. The bullets drummed upon
the logs and the palisade, whined through the port-holes, tore slivers
from the roofs. Urged on by the white men, the Indians charged under
cover of the muskets. They were bent backward, and broke and fled,
leaving bodies. With flaming arrows they set fire to a roof; their
sharpshooters, in trees, would keep water from it. A stripling young
man scrambled on top, stood there, seized the buckets passed up to him,
doused the blaze and amidst cheers leaped down again.

Some of the brave women, Jemima Boone and other girls, donned men's
clothes and showed themselves here and there, to deceive the enemy.
Jemima was wounded; two of the men were killed. Somebody, in the
timber, was doing good shooting, with a rifle.

It was the black Indian, Pompey. He was kno