the savages opened fire in the woods, they dared not attack in force, so
resolute and sure-eyed were the skirmishers and so strong a defense were
the heavy wagons.

All day long this terrible march proceeded, the women and children
sheltered in the wagons, and the savages, from the shelter of the forest,
keeping up an irregular but unceasing fire on the flanks. The white
skirmishers replied often with deadly effect, but it grew galling, almost
unbearable. The Indians, who were accustomed either to rapid success or
rapid retreat, showed an extraordinary persistence, and Henry suspected
that Braxton Wyatt was urging them on. As he thought of the effect of
these continued attacks upon the train, he grew anxious. The bravest
spirit could be worn down by them, and he sought in vain for a remedy.

They camped the second night in an open place, and fortified, as before,
with a circular earthwork; but they were harried throughout all the hours
of darkness by irregular firing and occasional war whoops. Fewer people
slept that night than had slept the night before. Nerves were raw and
suffering, and Paul found his chosen task a hard one. But he worked
faithfully, going up and down within the fortified circle, cheering,
heartening, and predicting a better day for the morrow.

That day came, cloudless and brilliant above, but to the accompaniment of
shouts, shots, and alarms below. Once more the terrible march was resumed,
and the savages still hung mercilessly on their flanks. Henry, with
anxious heart, noticed a waning of spirit, though not of courage, in the
train. The raw nerves grew rawer. This incessant marching forward between
the very walls of death could not be endured forever. Again he sought a
way out. Such a way they must have, and at last he believed that he had
found it. But he said nothing at present, and the train, edged on either
side with fire and smoke, went on through the woods.

A third time they camped in an open space, a third time they fortified;
but now, after the supper was over, Henry called a council of the leaders.

"We cannot go on as we have been going," he said. "The savages hang to us
with uncommon tenacity, and there are limits to human endurance."

Daniel Poe shook his head sadly. The awful lacerating process had never
ceased. More men were wounded, and the spirits of all grew heavier and
heavier. Paul still walked among the fires, seeking to cheer and inspire,
but he could do little. Dread o