11 A Flight and a Fight

“He is dead, Zebedee! Look, he is covered with blood! We were too late!”

“Dead nothin’! Drag him up an’ give him a good shake! Hurry! we’ve got to be quick!”

Culverhouse’s strong hand was in the collar of my hunting shirt. He jerked me to a sitting posture, and shook me so violently that he shook all the dizziness out of me.

“Grab your gun,” said Zebedee, “an’ come on! We was just in time then, an’ we’ve got to run for it yet.”

The boy was rapidly reloading his rifle as he spoke, and I dimly comprehended what had happened. The dead Indian lying at my feet with a clean round hole in his temple was sufficient explanation. I seized my rifle, and, shuddering as I took a last look at the fallen warrior, darted away to the south, close behind Zebedee and Culverhouse.

“You have him to thank for not being in the Indian’s place,” said Culverhouse between panting breaths, and nodding at Zebedee. “It was one of the neatest shots I ever saw, and at long range, too.”

Then he asked Zeb what he meant to do. The boy made no reply. Culverhouse repeated the question.

“Shut up!” said Zeb. “This ain’t no time to bother me with questions.”

“You must not talk to me in that manner,” said Culverhouse with some choler. “I am an officer, and I am older than you.”

“Shut up, I tell you!” repeated Zeb emphatically. “Just now I’m more’n a hundred years older than you are.”

Culverhouse asked no more questions.

When we had run about a half mile, we stopped for a moment on the crest of a little hill. Then we heard a cry, shrill and rising higher and higher, until its piercing note seemed to fill the wilderness. Then it sank down in a long, throbbing quaver. The cry expressed triumph and anger, and was of such uncanny tone that I could not repress a shiver.

“Good God!” exclaimed Culverhouse. “What, in the name of all that’s merciful, was that?”

“That,” said Zebedee, “is the war whoop of the Hurons, an’ that’s what we want to get away from as fast as we can, for if we don’t our hair will be a public ornament afore nightfall. You came to the war, leftenant, an’ you find it a-meetin’ you.”

“And this is war,” muttered Culverhouse, “taking to our heels through the woods as if we were pursued by the prince of the fiends himself!”

“You’ve sized it up tol’ably well, leftenant,” said Zeb. “It’s war, sure, an’ it’s a kind of war that’s been goin’ ag’in us from the start. It might be a good thing to recollect that. Now let’s be off ag’in.”

We resumed our flight. After the single whoop, we heard nothing behind us. But the silence was more terrifying than any amount of noise would have been. The wind seemed to have died away. There was no movement among the green young leaves and the tender grass. The sky was a sheet of blue, and the sun, a great globe of gold, sailed up toward the zenith. It was just a brilliant summer morning, and there was no hostile sound, nowhere a sign of an enemy. But we could hear the thump of our own hearts, and the strained breath rasping the throat as it was drawn up from the tired lungs.

My first feeling was akin to shame. It was the same that Culverhouse had expressed in his short remark. This was a pretty beginning for a young officer who had seen the gold epaulets of a general shining at the end of his career. To be chased headlong through the forest by prowling savages, and to yield the leadership perforce to a lank boy who did not know a dragoon from a drum major!

We ran on for a long time. Zebedee kept slightly in front. I could not help noticing his long, easy stride, and the wary manner in which he swept the forest with his eyes. In the wilds and with danger near the boy had expanded, and there was a new look on his face. The dull, vacant expression such as those of feeble mind wear had disappeared. His countenance was instinct with intelligence. Every feature expressed alertness, keenness, and a fitness for the part he assumed, or rather which fell upon him like a garment that had been made for him. Here the boy had become our master.

We paused again by a little brook that whispered a song as it threw coils of silver over the pebbles.

“I suggest that we go no farther,” said Culverhouse as he gasped for breath. “It is not becoming to an officer in his Majesty’s service to fly thus from any danger at all, far less from a danger that he can not see and that he does not even know to exist.”

“The danger’s real enough, I tell you,” said Zebedee. “Them woods behind you are swarmin’ with the Hurons, an’ they mean to have us. They heard my shot, an’ they saw the dead warrior. Didn’t you hear the yell? They’ll follow us now clean into the lines of our own army if they don’t get us afore then.”

“I suppose it’s as you say,” said Culverhouse. “I’m willing to admit that I do not know much about this manner of making war.”

“It’s no choice of yours,” said Zeb. “They make it for you. We’ll rest here a little, an’ then we’ll run ag’in.”

Culverhouse looked at me and burst into a great laugh.

“What ails you?” I asked in amazement. “I can see nothing to laugh at.”

“Certainly not,” he replied, “but you could if you had a mirror. I was merely thinking how lucky it was for you that no sweetheart of yours could see you now.”

“He ain’t the prettiest thing in the world, that’s certain,” said Zebedee, grinning. “The blood of the Indian that fell across you, Leftenant Charteris, has run all over your face and dried there, till you’re as ringed an’ streaked an’ striped as if you was a born curiosity as ugly as tarnation.”

“Here’s water. I’ll wash it,” I said.

“No,” said Zeb authoritatively. “Let it go. You’re not pretty, but you’re pretty enough for the business we’ve got on hand. Do you feel a little fresher now?”

We answered in the affirmative, and, Zeb leading, we began our flight again. We had run perhaps half a mile when the sound of a rifle shot reached us. I heard a singing past my ear, and involuntarily I threw my head to one side. I have heard that hiss often since. That was the first time it ever whispered in my ear, but I knew it well even then. It marked the passage of a bullet.

“They’re close behind us,” said Zebedee, “but they fired sooner than I expected. That was a longrange shot Boys, we must make a rush, or they’ll pick us off.”

I cast a look behind me, and saw nothing but one little curl of smoke rising above the trees. But there was no longer any doubt about the pursuit The whistle of the bullet was sufficient proof. And it seemed somehow to give us renewed strength. Zeb chuckled dryly at our increased speed. Presently we heard the war whoop again, but this time it was not from one voice, but from a dozen. Back among the trees we could see the forms of our pursuers.

“I can not endure this any longer, Zebedee,” gasped Culverhouse. “Breath and strength are leaving me. You and Charteris go on, and I’ll make the best stand I can, and die as becomes a King’s officer.”

Culverhouse’s words were brave, and I doubt not that he meant them, or rather tried to mean them, but his eyes expressed the hope that we would not desert him. No man is so brave that he is willing to be abandoned in the face of death. Nor did we take him at his word.

“Come on to the top of the hill there, an’ we’ll make a fight of it together. That’s the place for us,” said Zebedee.

And so it was. I had enough of a military eye to see it at a glance.

Upon a small hill a great number of large trees had been blown down by a tornado. They had fallen in such a manner that some of the trunks lay across each other, while the vegetation grew between. It was a kind of natural fortification, and the sight cheered us greatly.

Culverhouse and I gathered up our remaining strength and made a dash for the logs. Zebedee, instead of leading, now brought up the rear. When we were within a yard or two of the fallen trees he whirled about, threw his rifle to his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. As the stream of fire leaped from the long barrel it was accompanied by a piercing cry, and I knew that one of our pursuers would pursue no more. Then all together we leaped over the timber and flung ourselves panting upon the ground, the rifle bullets of our pursuers pattering upon the logs.

Before the reports of their rifles had ceased to ring in our ears the wary Zebedee was on his knees examining our quarters.

“Lay close, boys,” he said, “an’ none of their bullets can touch you. Peep through that crack there, an’ you can see how many Indians are after you.”

Culverhouse and I looked as we had been told, and, much to our astonishment, saw nothing—that is, nothing living. There was the forest, green and placid, the brilliant beams of the sun penetrating the foliage of the trees and lingering lovingly on the grass. It seemed to be a primeval wilderness into which we, and we alone, had come.

“These red enemies of ours have most surprising methods,” ejaculated Culverhouse. “Will you kindly tell me, friend Zebedee, what has become of them?”

“I guess the earth has just opened an’ swallered ’em up,” said Zebedee, “but if you was to poke your head above that log I’ll bet a half dozen bullets would come a-huntin’ it. You can bet, leftenant, that they’re waitin’ for your scalp.”

“What queer people these red fellows are!” said Culverhouse again meditatively, “and how they violate all the rules of war!”

“But they win battles mighty often, spite of the rules,” interrupted Zebedee.

“And what a sanguinary desire they evince to obtain our scalps!” continued Culverhouse.

He felt for his hair, which was very abundant, and then said ruefully to me:

“To think I should be threatened with such a fate, I, who have danced with a princess of the blood royal!”

Zeb burst into a fit of derisive laughter.

“Do you think the Hurons will care for your princess of the blood royal, leftenant?” he asked. “But, lordy me, the Hurons know somethin’ ’bout teachin’ people to dance themselves. They’ll know how to make you hop, skip, an’ jump, leftenant.”

“Zebedee, my friend,” said Culverhouse sorrowfully, “it seems to me that you are trying to play upon my fears with these suggestions of the red men’s deviltry. It is very unkind of you, Zebedee.”

“All right, leftenant,” said Zebedee cheerfully. “We’ll drop it. I guess we both had better be watchin’ the Hurons.”

The windrow had been a great piece of luck for us. The surrounding space for some yards in every direction was almost bare of trees. We could sweep the intervening territory with our rifles, and if our enemies attempted to take us with a rush it would be a most dangerous thing for them.

“They won’t try the rush, at least, not yet,” said Zeb. “Much as they love scalps, they like to get ’em without riskin’ their own. They’d rather wait. I think we’re in for a long spell of it. Have you got anythin’ to propose, leftenant?”

“Zebedee,” said Culverhouse with a fine air of resignation, “I am an officer in the army; so is my friend here; you, as far as we know, are not an officer in anything. Nevertheless, we resign this affair into your hands. I disclaim any responsibility whatsoever for our situation and for what may happen. This is not correct in any particular. It is contrary to all the rules of warfare as I have learned them in the best and most polished schools of the world. I can express only my disgust at such an un-English way of making war, and my deep regret at being concerned in it. The thought of the many apologies that I will have to make to my fellow-officers is most unpleasant, and vexes my spirit sorely.”

“How very English you are!” I said. “You would then have the Hurons to fight according to your methods?”

“Of a certainty,” he said with emphasis. “It is the only proper way. The Hurons can never hope to obtain my approval if they persist in their irregularities.”

Here Culverhouse settled himself back against the logs as if he felt great relief at having got a burden off his mind, and intended to have nothing more to do with the affair. I cast a look at Zebedee to see how he took this enunciation of the military law, but that young worthy was staring between the logs at the forest, and apparently did not hear. As for myself, I concluded it was better not to reply.

For a long time none of us spoke. We contented ourselves with watching. It was now noonday, for the sun had sailed up to the zenith and hung directly over our heads. Poised in the center of the heavens, he poured his shining arrows upon us, and we could see the heat quivering in the air. Nor was it permitted us to escape it. We tried to crouch under the fallen trees, but the sun’s rays sought us there, and drew the sweat every time they struck us.

“It is a most uncomfortable day to stand a siege,” said Culverhouse.

“You mean it’s tarnal hot,” said Zeb.

“It comes to the same thing,” replied Culverhouse, “though your expression may be more direct and forcible.”

“What is going to be the end of all this?” asked Culverhouse after another long pause.

“Maybe our scalps will hang on a lodge pole,” said Zeb deliberately, “an’ maybe they won’t. They won’t if the troops who ought to come get here in time. As nigh as I can calculate, this place is right on the line of march of our army. We ain’t very far ahead, an’ p’r’aps some of ’em will come up an’ help us out. Leastways that might be the case if the army had any more scoutin’ parties out now.”

“If they come, I hope they won’t be long about it,” said Culverhouse. “By my faith, this position is getting to be a trifle uncomfortable! Zebedee, are you still of a mind that our enemies are in concealment there, watching us?”

“If you don’t think it,” said Zebedee, “lift your hat a bit above the highest log. The trick ain’t new, an’ maybe they’ll let it pass. But still they’re so anxious for a shot that I guess some of ’em will plunk away at it.”

“The suggestion seems to be well made, and I think I will try it,” said Culverhouse.

He began cautiously and slowly to lift his head. The top of his hat was just beginning to appear above the improvised fortification when Zeb seized him with both hands and dragged him down.

“Don’t be so pesky fast, leftenant,” he said. “I said raise the hat, but you needn’t raise it with your head in it.”

“By Jove, you are right,” said Culverhouse in some confusion. “I am glad you brought me to with a jerk. It would have been decidedly irregular, not to mention the matter of danger.”

“Which last ain’t the least by any manner of means,” said Zeb. Then, without more ado, he reached over, seized Culverhouse’s befrogged hat, and lifted it off his head.

“I guess I’d better do this,” he said. “I ’pear to have more of a sleight at these things than you do, leftenant. You might beat me out in the open, where things are reg’lar, but here in the woods I’m a lettle bit heftier.”

He put the hat on the end of the ramrod of his gun, and began to hoist it, though with much slowness.

“It may sp’il the hat, leftenant,” said Zebedee, “but it’s for the sake of a good cause.”

“And I paid three guineas for it out of my own purse,” said Culverhouse sorrowfully. “If there is anything about my habit that has been a particular joy to me, it has been my hat.”

The hat rose above the log, a bit of the feathers and gold braid appearing first. Then a little of the crown was hoisted into view, and the next moment the report of a firearm was heard from a point in the woods toward the northwest.

Zeb lowered the hat and handed it to Culverhouse, saying:

“Leftenant, I thank you for the loan of your fine hat, an’ I give it back to you with extrys added to it.”

There was a neat round hole in either side, where the Indian bullet had gone through. Culverhouse clapped the hat back on his head.

“Your assertions about the Indians are true, Zebedee,” he said, “and the fact needs no further verification at the expense of my chapeau.”

The incident made it very evident that our enemies would not relax their vigilance. In fear of an attack or some of the dangerous devices to which these crafty savages are addicted, we watched the woods on all sides.

“I think I begin to have a tincture of the battle fever,” said Culverhouse presently. “Is there no way in which I can lodge a shot in the vitals of one of those crapulous savages?”

“It is irregular,” I said. “The military treatises do not provide for any such feats.”

“I am willing now to overlook the irregularity,” said Culverhouse, “as we have happened upon circumstances of such queerness.”

“The chance may be yours soon,” said Zeb. “If you see an Indian, shoot at him, but look out for your own head. Don’t poke it out too far.”

Culverhouse and I at least had little stomach for such inaction, and we were beset with impatience. I was just opening my mouth to make complaint when the words were cut off at my lips by a volley of rifle shots. We heard some of the bullets whizzing over our heads and others burying themselves with a nasty spat! spat! in the tree trunks.

“From what point are they firing?” asked Culverhouse, who was fingering his rifle and showing much desire to return the fire.

“From all p’ints,” replied Zeb. “They’ve made a ring ’round us, an’ are all firin’ at us in the center in hopes that we can’t dodge all their bullets.”

“Nor can we,” said I, as I felt a sting in my left arm.

I pulled up the sleeve in much haste, but the bullet had only burned the flesh. It was like the sting of a bee to an ox, and aroused in me a great desire to return the courtesy with all the interest that should be added by a gentleman. I peeped through the tree trunks in an effort to catch sight of our hitherto invisible foe. At that moment a rifle flashed beside me, and Culverhouse uttered a cry of joy.

“I verily believe I hit him, the dancing demon!” he exclaimed. “I saw him skipping from one tree to another.”

“An’ I know I hit mine,” said Zebedee, who had fired a moment later, “for I saw his body pitch over in the bushes, an’ it’s a-layin’ there yet.”

I also got a shot, but I am confident I missed.

And I have always held to it that Culverhouse missed too, for he was a poor marksman, which was not to be wondered at, his experience with the rifle being but small.

Then the shots ceased, and silence again possessed the woods.

“They made a mess of it that time,” said Zebedee, “an’ lost a good warrior. They risked too much, an’ showed themselves when they should a-laid hid and plunked away at us. Then in time they might have killed all of us without any of ’em gettin’ hurt.”

“Then, I trust, Zeb, they will not think of it yet!” I exclaimed.

There was a long pause, in which we did nothing but blister under the blazing sun and reflect upon the pressing inconvenience of our situation. I, at least, did the latter, and wondered over and over again if all the fine ambitions I had cherished were to end obscurely in that dark forest, like a candle put out by a puff of wind.

The sun began to sink, and a cooling breeze set in from the west. It dispelled the heat, and our spirits rose as the temperature sank.

“It will not be very long until nightfall,” said Zeb.

“Will not that give the Indians a better chance to approach us?” asked Culverhouse.

“Certain,” replied Zeb, “an’ it’ll also give us a better chance to get away. We mustn’t spend a whole night in this place. We must run the risk and try to steal away in the dark.”

“I can not see wherein it is more desirable to be struck by a bullet or a tomahawk in the dark than by day,” said Culverhouse.

“In the day you get scared before you’re hit,” said Zeb, “an’ in the dark you don’t, ’cause you don’t know what’s comin’. But maybe we won’t have to do neither. I hear horns.”

He spoke the latter words with an appearance of eager, intense interest. We asked him what he meant by “hearing horns,” but he condescended no reply. He had raised himself on his knees, crouched like a great cat, listening and waiting for the time to spring.

“What do you hear, Zeb?” I asked.

He shook one hand at me, making a gesture of great impatience, and perforce I was silent.

He must have remained in his listening attitude for the space of full five minutes. Then he dropped back in a recumbent posture.

“The troops are advancin’, sure,” he said. “I heard their horns. The sound come on the wind. ’Twasn’t much, not more’n a dry leaf makes when it hits the ground, but I know it. It’s just like ’em to go lickety split through the woods, tootin’ their horns an’ tellin’ every Indian this side of the St. Lawrence where they are.”

“You mean trumpets, I guess,” I suggested.

“It’s all the same,” replied the boy with an expression of disgust. “Horns, I call ’em. They make as much noise by either name.”

“But it is a noise of which we can not complain this time,” said Culverhouse, “for it would savor of ill temper and ingratitude.”

Hope now took possession of us. We waited and listened. Once or twice I thought I could hear the faint tones of the trumpet, but I was not sure. My ears were not so well attuned to the forest as Zebedee’s.

“I’m hopin’ they’ll come soon,” said Zebedee, looking up anxiously at the sky, “or the night’ll beat ’em here, an’ that’ll be bad for a rescue.”

“Perhaps you were mistaken. Perhaps it was merely a phantasy,” I said.

“I don’t know a phantasy. I never seen or heard one,” said Zeb, “but I do know a horn, an’ I heard it, certain. They may have gone on farther away from us, but I don’t believe it, for we’re mighty nigh to the line of march. There! There it goes ag’in! Don’t you hear it?”

Tra-la-loo, tra-la-la, tra-la-loo, ta-too, ta-too, ta-too!

Now we heard it distinctly rolling down the wind. Never was a sound more welcome than that which came to us from the trumpet’s brazen throat. It was the voice of help, of life.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” exclaimed Culverhouse joyfully. “It’s the brave lads beating their way through these treacherous forests! Friend Zebedee, you must confess that the redcoats are of some utility, after all.”

“Let’s wait an’ see,” said Zeb cautiously.

Straining my eyes in the direction from which the sound of the trumpet came, I saw a smear of red on a distant hilltop.

“Look, Zeb, is not that the troops?” I exclaimed. “Is not that the troops?”

“Yes,” said Zeb, “I see their uniforms shinin’, an’ the settin’ sun is glancin’ off their brass buttons. That’s the troops or a part of ’em, an’ no mistake. An’, as sure as you live, they’re goin’ into camp in that open spot on the hilltop.”

“Signal to them! Signal to them at once,” exclaimed Culverhouse, “and let’s get out of this plague of a hole.”

In his eagerness he raised his head above the tree trunk. A rifle cracked in the woods, and a bullet sheared the feather from his fine hat. He sank back, expressing his annoyance in vehement terms.

“I told you to wait,” said Zeb reprovingly. “Don’t forget that the savages are mighty irreg’lar, or you’ll get all your hat shot away afore we get through.”

More soldiers had come into the open on the far hilltop, until fully a hundred were gathered there. Undoubtedly they were going into camp for the night, as we could see them setting about their preparations.

“Suppose we fire our rifles altogether and attract their attention,” said Culverhouse.

“An’ then have the savages altogether rushin’ upon us,” said Zeb, “an’ no loads in our guns for em.”

The wind was blowing strong from the soldiers toward us. We could even hear the clang of the camp kettles. The sun, round, red, and huge, had gone so far down the western arch of the sky that it formed a background for them. In the full blaze of its brilliant light we could distinguish the features of the men.

“They are from one of the English regiments,” said Culverhouse.

“An’ for that reason not much good for woods fightin’,” said Zeb.

“I think I’ll shoot off my gun, an’ maybe they’ll hear it,” he added presently, “but I dunno, for the wind is blowin’ sound back this way like a big current takin’ a stick down stream.”

He raised his rifle and discharged it into the air. The soldiers gave no evidence that they had heard the report. They proceeded unconcernedly with their preparations, and presently we saw a fire blazing. A slender column of smoke rose from it and floated above the tree tops.

“By my soul, they are cooking!” said Culverhouse; “and that reminds me that hunger is gnawing at me. We have not eaten since last night. I believe I can smell their food.”

“They didn’t hear my gun, that’s certain,” said Zeb. “Now if they’d a grain of sense they’d a had scouts lookin’ through all these woods afore they camped.”

The situation was most provoking. We could see our friends, and yet they neither saw nor heard us. Despite their presence, we were still as closely besieged by the savages as if the soldiers were a hundred miles away. I saw now that the causticity of Zeb’s comments upon the ways of the regular soldiers was equaled only by their truth. It struck me that the Great Duke, Marlborough, himself, whose memory was still of such exceeding weight among us, would have been compelled to learn the art of war anew had he come campaigning in the American woods, or else Fate would have played him sore tricks.

“Leftenant,” said Zeb, “I guess your hat will have to stand the dangers of war ag’in.”

“What do you mean?” asked Culverhouse.

“Why, since they can’t hear us,” replied Zeb, “maybe they can see us. We can’t stick our heads up, for bullets are unpleasant things to meet. Now your hat, with all its fine feathers, is just the thing. I’ll h’ist it on my ramrod ag’in, an’ if they can’t see it with all its gold braid they can’t see nothin’.”

The hat was promptly drafted into service again. I wondered if the Indians would try another shot at it. I had no doubt they were still watching us, and I was of an equal positiveness that they had seen the soldiers. There was always a chance that some one of the redcoats, more alert than the others, might hear a shot. Would the Indians risk it?

My doubts were quickly stilled, for as soon as Zeb raised the gorgeous chapeau a shot was fired at it. The bullet made another neat round hole through it, and Culverhouse uttered a lamentation. But the Indians fired no more.

Zeb moved the hat about, the gold braid catching the rays of the declining sun. Some of the soldiers were now sitting around the camp fire eating their evening meal. The sight made me think more of our hunger than of our danger. I felt as if I could have sent a shot at those irritating soldiers had they been within range.

“Take the ramrod,” said Zeb to me, “an’ keep on swingin’ the hat about as if your life depended on it.”

I obeyed, and the next moment I sprang a foot in the air and nearly dropped rod and hat. Zeb had suddenly put his hands, trumpet fashion, to his mouth and uttered a most terrific shriek. It was at first a prolonged shout that set my ears a-tingling, and then it turned into a fierce, shrill, and piercing whistle that cut the air like a bullet.

“How’s that for a whoop?” asked Zeb, grinning. “Is there a sneakin’ Indian in all the American woods that can beat it? Maybe if the soldiers can’t hear a gun shot they can hear my yell. Look out, it’s comin’ ag’in!”

Again he made the forest ring and echo with his tremendous whoop. Watching the soldiers, I saw an unusual movement among them. Some of the men who had been sitting down rose to their feet, and all appeared to be listening. I moved the hat with great vigor.

“Shout again, Zeb!” I cried excitedly. “They hear you!”

He uttered another yell, which echoed like the shriek of a panther on a still night. We were assured now that they heard us, and also saw the hat.

Tra-la-la, tra-la-loo, tra-la-la, ta-too, ta-too!

“Smoke me if they ain’t comin’ to help us with their horn!” exclaimed Zeb.

It was so. The trumpeter had his instrument to his lips, and the mellow and inspiring notes sounded through the forest. The men were falling into line as if they were going to march down Broadway, and we could see an officer gesticulating.

“What all-fired notions of Indian fightin’ they have,” said Zeb, “a-paradin’ through the woods as if a lot of gals was lookin’ on at ’em an’ admirin’ ’em! Get your guns ready, boys! We’ll save as many as we can.”

“Save as many as we can?” I exclaimed in surprise. “Why, they are coming to rescue us.”

“I know it,” said Zeb, “but I guess we’ll have to rescue them.”

The truth of his words was apparent a few moments later to both Culverhouse and me, slight as had been our experience of forest warfare. Instead of sending out scouts to ascertain what manner of affair might be going on, at least half of the troop were marching down upon us in regular line of battle, in so far as the trees and bushes would permit them to preserve the military formation. An ambush seemed inevitable.

“How can we warn them?” I whispered to Zeb.

“I don’t know yet,” he replied.

It was a fine sight to see them coming through the forest in such brave and jaunty style, heads up, feet keeping time, and bright uniforms gleaming. At their head marched an officer, drawn sword in hand.

“That’s Selwyn, of the Buffs,” said Culverhouse. “A chap of spirit. I knew him at home.”

I continued to wave the gaudy hat, and the soldiers came on steadily. They were halfway to us when, without a word of warning to either of us, Zeb leaped upon the highest tree trunk and shouted:

“Get behind the trees! Get behind the trees! You’re walkin’ into an ambush! Look out! Look out!”

Then he dropped back into the little fort as if he had been shot, as he probably would have been had it not been for the last movement, for the rifles were now heard, and two or three bullets sang and whistled over our heads. But the main volley was directed at the soldiers. Fortunately the warning of Zebedee had startled the men so much that they obeyed it instinctively. They had broken their line, and were springing for the shelter of the tree trunks when the Indians fired upon them.

The savages appeared to have collected in a body, for the bushes about fifty yards from the soldiers were spouting fire. The young lieutenant whom Culverhouse had called Selwyn fell, but one of the men turned, lifted the stricken officer in his arms, and sprang behind a tree with him. It was a most gallant act, and Zeb uttered a grunt of approval.

The soldiers began to fire in return, but it was evident that they were discharging their pieces at random, while the fire of the Indians was telling. I saw one redcoat go down, and then another, and just at that moment Zeb, shouting to us to follow, leaped over our breastwork and sprang into the forest, running straight for the Indians. Suddenly he dropped flat on his face, and we imitated him. Ahead of us we saw a number of brown figures crouching behind trees and firing at the soldiers. It was not necessary to give any further orders to Culverhouse and me. Together with Zeb we raised our pieces and fired at the naked bodies. Just then the remainder of the soldiers who were coming up from the camp on the run fired into the thicket where the Indians lay, making a deal of noise, but not doing much destruction, I dare say.

But the assault from three points was too much for the stomachs of the savages. Uttering howls, they fled like balked and ravening wolves into the depths of the forest.

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