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The Indians stood completely dumbfounded for a moment, totally unable to realize that such was the case. But a Shawnee Indian rarely gives way to his emotions, and when he does, it does not last long. A long, wild, lengthened howl conveyed the dismal intelligence that the white man had fled to the woods.

Now the pursuit and search commenced. Lights were gleaming and flitting through the trees, like frantic fire-flies, and the eager savages were darting and yelling in every direction. Signals were given and returned, and all imaginable artifices adopted.

But a pursuit, under such disadvantages, could hardly be expected to be successful. And it did not prove so in this case. Jenkins knew well how to use his legs, especially when his life depended upon them; and the manner in which he flew through the forest would have made an ordinary Indian despair at once. He had nearly the entire night before him, and he hardly halted for breathing time until morning. The moon arose toward midnight, and so lit up the wood that it would have been exceedingly dangerous for him had his pursuers been anywhere in the vicinity. But they were not, and he had it all to himself.

At morning he was so exhausted that he threw himself upon the ground, at the roots of a fallen tree, and slept heavily. Slept until near the middle of the afternoon, and then he would not have awakened, had not a visitor helped him to recall his wits. He opened his eyes and started with unbounded astonishment at seeing before him that mysterious being known as the Frontier Angel. She stood a few feet away, surveying him with a look of mild joy, and holding in her right hand a rifle which he instantly recognized as his own.

"So you made your escape, did you?" she remarked, seeing that he said nothing.

"Hello! how are you? Glad to see you. How's your folks? Been well?" asked Jenkins, suddenly thinking he had been remiss in his usual politeness. These questions were accompanied by a profound bow and scrape of his foot upon the earth.

The being before him paid no heed to these demonstrations, but repeated her remark:

"So you made your escape, did you?"

"Very well, I thank you, how's your health?"

"You have escaped, I say?"

"Oh! yes, a pleasant day."

The personage paused and looked at him in astonishment. The truth of the matter was, Jenkins was so confused that he did not comprehend a single remark made by her. He continued bowing and scraping and speaking incoherently until, at last, his senses returned. The Frontier Angel merely gazed at him with a wondering expression, in which not a particle of mirth could be seen. Waiting a few moments, she once more repeated her remark.

"Oh – you spoke of escape, did you? Yes, I managed to get away myself."

"Were you not bound?"

"Oh, yes; with tremendous big cords."

"How did you free yourself of them?"

"Broke them all by my giant strength, ma'm," he replied, valiantly.

"You are mistaken, sir."

"Oh! was it you that cut them when we was in the muss?" he asked, eagerly.

"I cut them and admonished you to fly. You should not take the credit yourself," mildly replied the visitor.

"I didn't know as you done it, or I wouldn't said so," said Jenkins, somewhat crestfallen at being so caught.

"How came you to be captured?" she continued, standing in front of him, and keeping her dark eyes fixed upon him.

"Overpowered by main force! I'd like to see the man that could withstand forty-three Shawnee Indians."

"Were there that many who assailed you?"

"Well, I couldn't say positively now – perhaps more or less. To speak within bounds, we'll call it forty-two."

"And where is he who was with you?"

"Who? – Dick Dingle? He wouldn't stay and fight, but run and left me behind to meet all the danger."

"You were scouts, then, sent to reconnoiter the Indians, I suppose. In doing so, you were captured by your enemies, while your companion escaped. But, thanks to the great Ruler above, you were also delivered from death. Your friend, from what I know of him, leads me to the belief that he gained enough knowledge of the Indians to answer all purposes. And he will be able to give all information to the settlements which I was unable to give."

"S'pect so. Leastways I know, when I get home, I'll be able to give our settlement a great deal of information that they never knowed or dreamt on before."

"I have followed your trail, my friend, to come up with you and find out what I have just learned. I rejoice to learn that it has turned out thus. And now I will bid you good-by. Do not delay, for, although you are a great way from the Indian town, there may be many and swift pursuers upon your trail."

"Say! hold on a minute!" called out Jenkins, springing toward her, first reaching out his hand, and then suddenly withdrawing it, as he remembered what he had heard said would be the consequences of such an act.

"What do you want?" she asked, turning round and facing him.

Now, the truth of the matter was, Jenkins had fallen desperately in love with this singular personage. And, all things considered, it could not be wondered at. Arrayed in her fantastic Indian dress, her beauty was certainly wild and wonderful. Gay, painted eagle and porcupine quills formed a fiery head-dress, which contrasted well with the long, luxuriant hair of jetty blackness, that rolled unrestrained down her shoulders. The face was small and a delicate oval, the eyelashes long and black, the nose thin and small, and the teeth of pearly pureness. Viewed from the side, the profile was perfectly straight from the upper part of the forehead to the base of the nose, from which point it slightly retreated to the chin. The eyes were dark, and when fixed upon a person, wore a meek, mild expression; at other times they fairly blazed with fire. A dress of dazzling colors reached from the shoulders to the ankles, and was confined at the waist by a band of gleaming red. The feet were encased in small, ornamented moccasins which displayed the symmetrical limbs to advantage. Several rows of wampum were hung around the neck and waist, and the whole dress was such as an Indian chief would put upon his princess.

When she turned so abruptly and faced Jenkins, he was considerably disconcerted. Upon any other occasion, he would have hesitated and stammered

"I just want to speak a word with you. I s'pose you know Dick Dingle, don't you? that feller that left me so cowardly?"

"Yes," she replied, without changing a feature or removing her gaze from him.

"Well, I was just going to say – that is – I wouldn't have anything to do with him. He is an awful mean man; I wouldn't speak to him."

"Why?" was the same quiet question.

"Oh! 'cause he's so everlastingly mean. Darnation! haven't I told you a thousand times? How many more times are you going to ask me?"

"Is that all?"

"Yes – no – hold on!"

"What else do you wish?"

"I want to know if – if – if you don't like him, do you now?" suddenly broke forth Jenkins.

The maiden began acting strangely. Her eyes brightened, her lips quivered, and she seemed striving to say something. She controlled her emotion in a moment, and sweeping her hand over her eyes, looked calmly at her questioner, but without deigning a reply.

"Don't you – don't you – don't you love me now? I do you!" besought our friend, going down on his knees in true, sentimental style.

The Frontier Angel gazed calmly on him a moment, then raised her eyes, turned on her heel, and disappeared in the forest.

CHAPTER IX.
PETER JENKINS – A COUPLE OF SPEECHES

"Consarn her, I don't care nothin' for her. I was just fooling; I only got down to see where she had put my rifle. Wonder where she got it from! She's awful ugly. S'pect Dingle has been telling her some lies about me. By gracious! if I'd only thought about her shooting that arrer at me, she'd have cotched it. Wonder if it would have killed a feller if he'd touched her! I wouldn't risk it, no how. She is purty —somewhat. Never mind, I don't care, though I should like to know who she is. It's time I was tramping home, or the folks will begin to worry about me!"

Soliloquizing thus, Jenkins took his rifle, which he saw was still loaded, and once more turned his face homeward. Let us precede his arrival at the settlement.

Dingle, upon starting, after he deemed it useless to wait for Jenkins, had made all haste through the wood, and proceeded much faster than the war-party which started the next day. Nothing occurred to interrupt his journey, and in due time he made his appearance before the block-house. He was joyfully welcomed back by all. The fate of Jenkins was sincerely regretted by every one, but under the circumstances it could not be helped. He was known to all, and although from his suspected cowardice he commanded little respect, his loss was none the less mourned.

"They're paintin' and greasin' themselves, so that they can slip around easy like, and they're just ready to start agin some settlement. More than that, boys, they've started afore now, and their faces are turned this way and you've jest got time to git ready to invite 'em in."

"How many?" inquired the commander of the post.

"Can't tell, but a powerful heap. Howsumever there ain't more than we can give 'Hail Columbia.' I don't think there'll be any Shawnees except from the upper town on Mad river. The imps in the other towns have got enough other deviltry to attend to, and I s'pect this is a kinder independent affair for the Piqua skunks."

The news of Dingle, as might be expected, occasioned the greatest excitement throughout the little encampment. The settlers, with compressed and silent lips, commenced moving the most valuable part of their furniture into the block-house, while the women, "whispering with white lips," moved hurriedly about, uttering their supplications continually.

As for the men in the block-house, they were in the highest of spirits. It had been a long time since anything had occurred to break the monotony of their life, and they hailed with delight the prospect of storms ahead. When one of the men became so boisterous, that the commander endeavored to check him, by telling him that the fight would probably be a desperate and bloody one, the fellow actually sprang off his feet, swung his hat over his head, and shouted, "Glory!"

Peterson had returned the day before Dingle, but without any news to alarm the settlement. The Indians in the Sciota valley were as quiet as usual, and there was no evidence to show that they intended a hostile expedition. The attack, as said by Dingle, and also by the Frontier Angel, was most probably contemplated by those at the Piqua town alone.

After most of the preparations had been completed, Abbot called Dingle aside, and asked him whether he had learned anything of McGable.

"He wasn't in that village," he replied.

"I suppose you are sure of it."

"Yes, for I surrounded the village two or three times, and if he'd have been thar', I'd seen him. I seen the chiefs, and could have shot any reds I'd been asked to."

"Peterson says he is not in the towns either, which he visited, for he examined each most thoroughly. How can it be? Where is he?"

"I've found out that he is at the village at the head of the Little Miami most of the time. Thar's where he is now, you may bet a considerable."

"Do you suppose he will be with the attacking Indians?"

"P'r'aps so, though it can't be told for a startin thing. I s'pose you'd like to know where me and Jim are going to catch him. You needn't think we're going to give it up. We ain't, 'cause we've set our hearts on it; and as soon as these reds as ar' comin' here get a little taste of us, the thing's going to be done. 'Cause why? Dick Dingle and Jim Peterson has said so."

"I hope you will learn of the fate of poor Marian, for I believe her mother will not live three months longer if you do not. When she finds out for certain, that her child is dead, and gone to her rest, she may bear up under this great affliction."

"Hold still a minute," said Dingle, as if a sudden thought had struck him. "Now there's Frontier Angel; she knows all about the Injin affairs, and I shouldn't wonder ef she could tell you somethin' about her. Freeze me to death, why didn't I think of it? I know she can."

"Frontier Angel, who is she? I have heard her spoken of as an Indian maiden, of whom nothing is known except that she is one of the best friends the settlers ever had."

"So she is – so she is; ef it hadn't been for her two or three times, thar' would have been some big ha'r raising done by the reds. She finds out nearly all their deviltry, and she's bound to let the whites know it."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"Tellin' the settlements to keep their eyes peeled, or maybe she's gone up to Heaven a little while. You needn't laugh, for she's a sperit– she's an angel, sure. Lew Whetzel says so, and I know she is, too."

"Why do you suppose she is such a being?"

"She's jest like one. She's as purty and as good. No one knows whar's she has come from, or whar' she goes to. She is allers alone, and goes about in the night. She ain't afeared of nothin', while everything is afeared of her."

"How are you going to get, then, the information of which you speak?"

"Just ax her the next time I see her. She knows me, and we've often talked together. She come and told me the other night 'bout the reds comin' down this way, and said I must go up and look 'round."

"Well, Dingle, find out what you can; I've no doubt you will. Perhaps it is time we separated, as there is enough for all to do. Mansfield, I believe, wishes to speak with you. Ah! here he comes."

Mansfield approached. His inquiries at first were the same as Abbot's, and receiving the same answers, he continued:

"How soon, Dingle, do you suppose the attack will be made?"

"To-night, sir."

"So Peterson said, and I suppose you must be right. You have no fears of the result?"

"No, sir; the Shawnees always attack in the night-time. I understand their capers. Ef it wa'n't for Frontier Angel, there would be a hard scratch, for we wouldn't have been fixed up so snug for 'em. I shouldn't wonder if thar' wa'n't much fight after all, when they find how things is."

"If they are to attack to-night, they cannot be far off?"

"No; they ain't many miles out of the way. It's now 'bout noon. They'll send thar' scouts ahead, and when the news reaches them that they are anxiously expected, they'll hurry up and git along afore dark."

"What will be their object in doing that?"

"You'll see; they'll hoot and yell, and make speeches to scare us, and make believe there's a heap of 'em. They'll order us to surrender, or they'll blow us to flinders. You'll larn sunkthin', you will. Freeze me to death, if you don't."

The afternoon gradually wore away, and the words of Dingle were found to be true. Vigilant sentinels were watching every point in the wood, and, at last, they discovered several Indians reconnoitering them. Every inhabitant was gathered into the block-house. All the men fully armed and anxious for the affray. Dingle and Peterson volunteered to enter the wood and spy out the movements and intentions of their enemies; but the commander would not permit it. He believed they could not escape being drawn into ambush, by the outlying scouts. Besides, he could not see what good could result from such an attempt. He peremptorily forbade any man recklessly exposing himself, or to attempt to execute any undertaking without orders.

Near the middle of the afternoon, some six or seven Indians were continually seen, flitting from tree to tree, and approaching the settlement as nigh as they dared. They seemed to make no attempt to conceal themselves, and often boldly exposed themselves upon the edge of the clearing. They viewed the settlement from every point possible for them to reach, and could not avoid the discovery that the whites were abundantly prepared for the assault.

Growing bolder and bolder, at the continued silence within the block-house, one of the Indians strode fearlessly out into the clearing, and stepping upon a large stump, shook his hand in a warning manner toward it. That instant there was the sharp crack of a rifle, the Indian made a hurried jump from the stump and hobbled away into the wood. As he did so he could not help hearing the loud laugh that greeted his exit.

"Guess he run a splinter in his foot!" remarked Peterson, who had fired the shot.

"Forgot sunkthin', I guess," added Dingle. "Hello! the reds have come!"

Others were now visible, and the number increasing, the wood appeared to swarm with them. They passed and repassed, and finally the majority appeared upon the edge of the clearing. Here they remained stationary a moment, and then entered the wood again.

"Heavens! there are five hundred of them!" exclaimed Mansfield, in consternation.

"Git out!" laughed Peterson; "don't you understand that trick? They're showin' themselves half a dozen times over to scare us into knocking under. Thar's just 'bout a hundred of 'em, not one more, and they ain't a little scart themselves."

"Who is at the head of them?"

"Do you see that feller standin' off at one end like? kinder hid behind that tree?"

"Yes; but he isn't dressed like a chief."

"'Cause he ain't a chief, nohow. Don't you know him?"

"No, I never saw him before."

"I reckon you have. That ar' gentleman is Mr. Thomas McGable, that you've been wantin' to see so long."

At mention of this notorious renegade's name, there was a sensation among the whites. Abbot, Mansfield, and others strained to get a view of him through the loop-holes, and expressions of indignation were freely made.

"How nice I could pick him off," whispered Peterson to Mansfield, and he ran his eye along the glistening barrel of his rifle.

"Don't do it – don't do it," admonished our hero. "Remember your promise to Abbot."

"You needn't be afraid; shootin' would be too good for him. He's bound to know what the white men think of him afore he dies."

The marching, filing, and counter-marching continued a considerable time, when the commander within the block-house was heard to say:

"Hello! we're going to hear something."

"Just as I s'pected," said Dingle. "McGable's goin' to exhort us."

The renegade made his appearance, holding a white handkerchief suspended on a stick over his head, as a flag of truce. He walked forward, waving the fluttering signal conspicuously, until about half way between the forest and the block-house, when he mounted one of the stumps which were so numerous about him, and then he made a speech. First, he advised them as a friend to surrender; demonstrated the utter foolishness of hoping to resist such an overwhelming force as he had at his back, and pledged his honor that they should be treated humanely. Warming with his subject, he informed them what a mighty man he was; what he had done, and what he would do, and how all white men knew better than to resist him. If his summons to surrender were not heeded, he would blow the whole settlement sky-high, and tomahawk every man, woman, and child!

We regret we have not space to give this remarkable speech verbatim. It was so long and windy that we feel compelled to be satisfied with the above synopsis.

After the renegade had finished, he seated himself upon the edge of the stump, and waited for the commander's answer. The latter, without keeping him waiting, stepped boldly out upon the platform, and shouted in a voice, every syllable of which, Jenkins, who was several miles away in the forest, afterward averred he distinctly heard:

"Tom McGable! You may attack and be hanged!"

CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH THERE IS A FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE SHAWNEES, THE SPEAKERS, AND JENKINS

After receiving the summary reply of the commander of the block-house, McGable arose, and without a word walked toward the wood. Here he seemed to spend a short time in consultation with the Indians; for they immediately after separated and disappeared among the trees.

"What does that mean?" asked Mansfield.

"They've drawn off, and will wait till night 'fore they try any of their games," replied Peterson. "We ain't done with 'em yet."

Such seemed to be the impression of all the others who had had any experience in Indian warfare. The Indians were too eager and well-prepared to be satisfied with anything short of an attempt to carry the block-house.

The night set in cold and stormy. The rain poured down in torrents, and the wind hurled it rattling against the block-house. The air, too, was of inky darkness, and the dismal sighing of the forest, the dull, murmuring roar of the Ohio, made the scene gloomy enough to the settlers. Had it not been for the incessant lightning, the time could not have been more favorable for the assault of the Indians. But the sharp, trembling streams of fire played constantly overhead, lighting up the forest and clearing as if at noonday, and the "near crashing of the thunderbolt" seemed to inspire the timid with a sort of valor – a peculiar bravery that they were strangers to at other times.

Dingle, Peterson, and the most experienced Indian-fighters never removed from their stations at the loop-holes during the night. The terrible storm that prevailed was of incalculable benefit to the whites in another particular. It prevented their assailants from using that most dreaded of all agencies – fire, in the assault.

The sentinels mentioned kept a continual watch from all sides of the block-house upon the wood and clearing. They knew too well that the continued silence of their enemies was more dangerous than open demonstration. Some deep-laid plan was hatching which was expected momently to develop itself.

Now and then a few syllables were exchanged between those within, but these fragments of conversation only seemed to make the gloom more impressive. No lights were burning, and none could see his neighbor. The men had all been assigned stations by the commander, which they did not offer to leave or exchange, while some of the women and younger portion, overcome by watching and the confined air, gave way to their drowsiness and slept feverishly and fitfully.

The hours between midnight and morning are the invariable ones selected by the North American Indian for making his attack upon his enemy. This strange being, so similar to the wild animal in more than one respect, seems to have learned many a lesson from him. Darkness, the stealthy approach and blow; the inevitable yell and leap in death; the howl of rage and disappointment; the chilling war-whoop; the persisting trailing of an enemy; the patient, silent watch; the black passions of revenge; the reveling in blood; all these are passions common to and a part of both.

It was at that hour, just beyond midnight, the most weird and gloomy of all, when a sort of stupor or indifference had fallen upon all except the most experienced, that Dingle gave the intelligence of the Indians having been seen upon the clearing, in the rear of the block-house. Almost at the same instant, Peterson added that they were also upon the front. Their course of action was now suspected at once; it was to attack the rear until the attention was concentrated in this direction, when a rush would be made upon the front, and an attempt to scale the palisades.

Every man was now upon the alert. The lightning, as if ordered of Providence, inflamed more incessantly, and nearly every step of the approaching savages could be seen. Some twenty were halting just beneath the edge of the wood, and evidently waiting for a moment of darkness in which to make a rush.

"H'yer they come!" said Peterson.

The same instant all saw them half way across the clearing, and almost immediately a dozen spouts of flame flashed from as many port-holes, and nearly half the Indians leaped wildly in the air and rolled quivering to the ground. The others wavered for a moment, and then scattered and took to the wood again.

"H'yer they am now, sartain!" called out Dingle.

The real attack was now attempted. Nearly the whole pack, yelling like so many tigers, rushed forward, and came up against the palisades like a hurricane. Here, as their heads appeared, by the aid of the friendly lightning, they were shot down by the cool and deliberate fire of the whites. The firing was as incessant as the lightning, and told with frightful effect upon the assailants. But the Shawnees are brave, when excited, and they maintained the assault most determinedly. McGable was soon seen several times, and three of the soldiers, as they afterward said, aimed nearly all of their shots at him. But fate seemed to protect him.

As the darkness blazed forth with the living fire, the block-house loomed forth, clear and defined, standing as it did, like a large, dark, motionless animal brought at bay by his dogged pursuers, and from whose hundred eyes the red bolts of destruction were hurled incessantly and wrathfully.

The Shawnees continued their desperate attempts to scale the palisades, growing more furious and revengeful at their repeated failures. But the steady, continual fire of the whites made dreadful slaughter, and they finally broke and fled in the wildest confusion to the wood. The shots from the block-house continued as long as a single Indian was visible.

"What do they now propose to do?" asked Mansfield.

"To git home 'bout as quick as their legs will let them."

"Good! Our success has been better than we could have hoped."

"Don't git excited now, 'cause it ain't noways sartin they've left yet."

"It makes no difference whether they have or not; it is all the same to us. We haven't lost a single man, while they have had twenty killed. They can't make a more vigorous attack than this last one, and they cannot possibly meet with a more complete repulse."

"I tell you that ef it hadn't been for the rain and the lightning, we'd have found things considerably summat different. In the first place, we wouldn't had the light to shoot by, and in the next they would've had some chance to give us a taste of what they had larned to do with fire."

"They've gone for home," said Dingle, decisively; "they won't bother us again very soon."

So it proved. An hour or two later, it began to become gray and misty in the east, the rain ceased falling, and gradually the light of morning stole over the wood and settlement. As the day broke, the scene was dismal and cheerless. The appearance of the forest, after a cold storm of rain has passed over it, always seems to wear its most disagreeable look. The dripping twigs, the branches loaded overhead with water, every rustle of which brings it down in torrents. The cold, sticky leaves, the wet, shining bark of the trees, and the chilling wind that soughs through the wood, all induce a feeling of desolation and dislike.

Such appeared the forest the morning after the attack. In the clearing, the bare, charred stumps seemed blacker than usual, and the beautiful river was now turbulent and muddy. Not a sign of the savages was seen. They had disappeared, carrying with them their dead and wounded; and the only vestiges of the conflict were numerous red spots in the clayey earth which the storm had not completely washed away.

Before it was light, Dingle and Peterson entered the wood to ascertain whether the Shawnees had really fled or not. They now made their appearance with the intelligence that they were not in the neighborhood, and there was no further cause for fear. The settlers, thankful and joyous, poured out of the block-house, carrying back their furniture and valuables, and by noon the settlement wore its usual appearance again.

One of the sentinels reported to the commander about this time, that there was still an Indian in the wood, apparently bent upon mischief.

"Draw bead and shoot him the first chance you get," was the reply.

With this determination, the sentinel betook himself to watching again. He was the only person acting in that capacity at this time, the commander deeming the assurance of Dingle and Peterson of enough weight to allow his men a good half day's rest.

Occasional glimpses of the supposed savage could be obtained; but it was a long time before the sentinel could bring his rifle to bear upon him. He dodged and flitted so rapidly that it seemed impossible; but becoming impatient and provoked, the sentinel at last raised his gun, took a quick aim at what he supposed to be his head, and blazed away.

"Consarn your old picter, who you shooting at?" called out the indignant Jenkins, as he stepped into the clearing.

The sentinel dropped his gun in amazement, and stared all agape at the speaker as he recognized him. Jenkins supposing his silence the result of fear, suddenly became valiant and again demanded,

"Say, who you shooting at? S'pose you'd have hit me. Smart, ain't you. You needn't look so innocent and drop that gun, and pretend you didn't do it. I seen you take aim and shoot, and I'll pay you for it, danged if I don't!"

By this time Peterson and several others appeared on the platform, and understanding how matters stood, their laughter was loud and continued. Jenkins indeed presented a comical and curious appearance. Naturally thin and bony, he now seemed doubly elongated, from the fact that his clothes were completely saturated, and clung tightly to his limbs. As he straddled indignantly forward, they flapped together, and it would have been no great stretch of imagination to suppose him a post gliding over the ground.

"Can't you answer? Who you shooting at?"

"Why at you, of course," replied the commander, striving vainly to restrain his gravity. Jenkins was heard to give a loud "umph!" and seen to shake his hand in a warning manner, when he was admitted into the gate and strode hurriedly toward the fort. The sentinel, who had gained his senses by this time, enjoyed the fun as much as the others, and determined to carry the joke through. He made no reply for the very purpose of giving Jenkins the idea he was sorely frightened at his mistake.

The indignant Jenkins soon made his appearance upon the platform, and observing the cowering sentinel shrinking behind the others, called out,