ppressed the women and children, and they
sat mostly in silence. Outside, an occasional whoop came from the depths
of the forest, and now and then a rifle was fired. The night was coming
on, thick and ominous. The air had been heavy all the day, and now somber
clouds were rolling across the sky. At intervals flashes of lightning
flared low down on the black forest. Heavy and somber, like the skies,
were the spirits of all the people. A wounded horse neighed shrilly, and
in an almost human voice, as he died.

"We must take a new step," said Henry; "things cannot go on this way. It
is yet a hundred and fifty miles, perhaps, to Wareville, and if the
savages continue to hang on, we can never reach it."

"What do you propose?" asked Daniel Poe.

Henry Ware stood erect. The light of the council fire flared upon his
splendid, indomitable face. All relied upon him, and he knew it.

"I have a plan," he said. "To-morrow we can reach an unforested hill that
I know of, with a spring flowing out of the side. It is easy to hold, and
we shall have plenty of water. We will stop there and make our stand.
Meanwhile, we will send to Wareville for help. The messenger must leave
to-night. Jim Hart, are you ready?"

Jim Hart had been sitting on a fallen tree, all humped together. Now he
unfolded himself and stood up, stretched out to his complete length, six
feet four inches of long, slim man, knotted and jointed, but as tough as
wire--the swiftest runner in all the West. Long Jim, ugly, honest, and
brave, said nothing, but his movement showed that he was ready.

"Jim Hart was made for speed," continued Henry. "At his best he is like
the wind, and he can run all the way to Wareville. He'll leave in a half
hour, before the moon has a chance to rise."

"He'll never get through!" exclaimed Daniel Poe.

"Oh, yes, he will!" said Henry confidently. "Bring all the men Wareville
can spare, Jim, and fall upon them while they are besieging us at the
Table Rock."

Little more was said. Had the train afforded paint, they would have
stained Jim's face in the Indian way; but the utmost that they could do
was to draw up his hair and tie it in a scalp lock, like those of the
Shawnees. Fortunately, his hair was dark, and his face was so thoroughly
tanned by weather that it might be mistaken in the night for an Indian's.
Then Long Jim was ready. He merely shook the hands of his four comrades
and of Daniel Poe, and without another word went forth.