The hours grew as we sat by the fire, and, presently, I noticed that Simon’s head was fallen forward, and he slept. I had hard work to fight off the slumber, as I had not closed my eyes for two nights, and was weary with my journey. I knew I dared not sleep, for, though I did not fear Simon, nor hardly an attack from the wolves, while the fire burned, yet there was a feeling of vague uneasiness with me, a dread that some nameless thing was abroad in the forest, and I could not shake it off.

Simon stirred uneasily, and then I heard a faint, far-off sound, as of some one walking cautiously through the underbrush. Could it be Indians? Our fire was not brilliant now, but, fearful that even its faint glow would betray us, I scooped up a handful of earth, and dashed it on the embers, extinguishing them.

Nearer and nearer came the sound until it was almost upon us. I reached over and touched Simon, who awoke with a start. Then he heard the sound and looked about in alarm. I took up my flint-lock and gave Simon one of the two pistols I had, at the same time motioning him to make no noise.

257“Indians,” he whispered, and I nodded.

The next moment we saw through an opening between the trees not fifty feet away dim shadows in the night; a line of figures which we made out to be the red men of the woods. One behind the other they marched, silent, almost, as spirits, save for a little rustle of the leaves as they brushed by them.

Each warrior had a gun, and they wore their war feathers. I counted six score ere the last one passed and I knew there would be no peace in the land for a time.

It was the beginning of the Indian uprising of which I had heard when near New York, and, with that savage band abroad our lives were scarce worth a flint.

Simon and I cowered in silence until we saw no more shadows, and then we breathed, it seemed for the first time since the Indians had come into view. The sailor spoke no word, but he handed the pistol back to me, like a man who was glad he had had no use for it.

With the savages on the war path it was little chance that Elizabeth would escape an attack.

Should we then push on there? I tried to think of a better plan, but there seemed none. We would be as much exposed to attack in retracing our steps, as in going on. If we could reach the town the block house might afford us protection until help came. Once in Elizabeth, too, Simon and I could aid the settlers in defending the place from the Indian attack. There was nothing to do but go on as soon as it was light.

258That it might be a race for life toward the end, seemed certain, as we could not travel without leaving a trail that even an Indian boy might follow.

I waited impatiently for the daylight, and it came so slowly that I was minded to wake Lucille, and start ere the dawn. But I feared to get on the wrong path, and so I waited, counting the minutes until the first flush in the east.

No sooner had it tinged the sky than I roused Simon, who had fallen asleep again, and bade him get Kit in readiness. I entered the bower and kissed Lucille, whereat she awoke with a start.

“Are we home, Edward?” she asked.

“Almost,” I said, cheerfully.

I dared light no fire, for fear of the tale the smoke would tell, so we ate the remainder of our bacon cold, with the dry biscuit, washing the poor meal down with water from a near-by brook. Then observing all the caution we could we took up our journey again.

There seemed to be a better path now, though it was far from easy traveling. When we had occasion to speak it was in whispers. I watched with jealous eyes every bush and tree, starting at each sound, while Lucille on Kit’s back was pale with fear.

The morning had turned to noon. Our only meal was water, drunk from oak leaves, that I fashioned to form a cup. The spirits I saved, for there was no telling when I could get more. Most anxiously did we strain our eyes for 259the sight of a house. Yet we went fully two miles after our halt at noon, ere we found one. It was Simon who first saw it. He pointed between the trees and said:

“Look.”

“What is it?” asked Lucille.

“A place where some one lives, I hope,” was my reply. We increased our pace. As we came nearer the house I thought that it was strangely still and quiet about the spot. Kit, too, pricked up her ears, and sniffed as if she did not like the air. It was a time to be cautious and so I led the mare with Lucille behind a clump of trees. Bidding Simon take one of the pistols, and stay there on guard, I went forward. I looked on every side of me.

Though it was a farm house there seemed to be no evidence of life. There were no cows in the meadow that stretched out in back, and not even a dog ran out to bark. The chickens and ducks appeared to have flown away. I saw that the barn door was open.

It was a strange house with no one on guard at such a time. I proceeded more slowly until I reached the kitchen door, which was unlatched. A woman’s dress on the floor caught my eye. Thinking now that all was right, and that I would find the family within I crossed the threshold, giving a knock to announce my coming.

Then such a sight of horror as met my gaze!

On the floor were the dead bodies of a man, a woman and two little girls. Their heads were away from me, but when my eyes had become accustomed to the dimness of the 260room, I saw that each one had been scalped. It needed no writing on the wall to tell that Indians had been there, and recently. With fear-blanched face I ran back to where I had left Lucille and Simon. The latter saw the cause of my return in my manner, but Lucille asked:

“Were the people there, Edward?”

“No,” I said, “they had gone out.”

I knew now that our only hope lay in pushing on with all speed, and without stopping to explain further I led Kit out into the road, which was fairly good.

“We must hasten, Simon,” I said, and under my breath I told him what I had seen.

Kit trotted off, and Simon and I had to run to keep up with her. Lucille inquired, with fright showing in her eyes, why we had so suddenly left the vicinity of the farm. I told her I had learned at the house that by hastening on we could reach Elizabeth ere dark, and I was anxious to do so.

Already it was getting dusk. We passed by farm houses at short distances apart now, so I knew the town must be near. There was no sign of life in any of the dwellings, however, and in fancy I saw within them such a scene as I had first come upon. At other places there were household articles scattered about, which showed how the families must have fled at the first alarm of the Indians.

Copper kettles, warming-pans, a spinning wheel, now and then a chest of linen, strewn along the road, told how the colonists had packed whatever of their possessions they 261could in a cart and hurried off to the block house, to be safe from attack. What they did not take with them the Indians carried off or burned.

I glanced on all sides of us. It was so dark that I could scarce see, though I made out the village a short distance ahead. The log block house stood on top of a little hill, and a fire burned on one corner of the roof, a signal to refugees.

My eye had no sooner caught sight of this, and I turned to tell Lucille that our journey was at an end, than Simon gave a cry. He pointed behind us, terror in his face.

I looked, and there, on the brow of the hill we had just descended were the figures of a score of Indians!

They were a quarter of a mile behind us, and we were half a mile from the fort.

I gave Kit a blow across the flank wit............