Part 39 (1/2)
”I see something on the roof of the block-house,” cried Jonathan.
”There, down towards the east end of the roof and in the shadow of the chimney. And as I'm a living sinner it's a man crawling towards that blazing arrow. The Indians have not discovered him yet. He is still in the shadow. But they'll see him. G.o.d! What a nervy thing to do in the face of all those redskins. It is almost certain death!”
”Yes, and they see him,” said the Colonel.
With shrill yells the Indians bounded forward and aimed and fired their rifles at the crouching figure of the man. Some hid behind the logs they had rolled toward the Fort; others boldly faced the steady fire now pouring from the portholes. The savages saw in the movement of that man an attempt to defeat their long-cherished hope of burning the Fort. Seeing he was discovered, the man did not hesitate, nor did he lose a second. Swiftly he jumped and ran toward the end of the roof where the burning arrow, now surrounded by blazing s.h.i.+ngles, was sticking in the roof. How he ever ran along that slanting roof and with a pail in his hand was incomprehensible.
In moments like that men become superhuman. It all happened in an instant. He reached the arrow, kicked it over the wall, and then dashed the bucket of water on the blazing s.h.i.+ngles. In that single instant, wherein his tall form was outlined against the bright light behind him, he presented the fairest kind of a mark for the Indians.
Scores of rifles were levelled and discharged at him. The bullets pattered like hail on the roof of the block-house, but apparently none found their mark, for the man ran back and disappeared.
”It was Clarke!” exclaimed Col. Zane. ”No one but Clarke has such light hair. Wasn't that a plucky thing?”
”It has saved the block-house for to-night,” answered Jonathan.
”See, the Indians are falling back. They can't stand in the face of that shooting. Hurrah! Look at them fall! It could not have happened better. The light from the cabin will prevent any more close attacks for an hour and daylight is near.”
CHAPTER XIV.
The sun rose red. Its ruddy rays peeped over the eastern hills, kissed the tree-tops, glinted along the stony bluffs, and chased away the gloom of night from the valley. Its warm gleams penetrated the portholes of the Fort and cast long bright shadows on the walls; but it brought little cheer to the sleepless and almost exhausted defenders. It brought to many of the settlers the familiar old sailor's maxim: ”Redness 'a the morning, sailor's warning.” Rising in its crimson glory the sun flooded the valley, dyeing the river, the leaves, the gra.s.s, the stones, tingeing everything with that awful color which stained the stairs, the benches, the floor, even the portholes of the block-house.
Historians call this the time that tried men's souls. If it tried the men think what it must have been to those grand, heroic women.
Though they had helped the men load and fire nearly forty-eight hours; though they had worked without a moment's rest and were now ready to succ.u.mb to exhaustion; though the long room was full of stifling smoke and the sickening odor of burned wood and powder, and though the row of silent, covered bodies had steadily lengthened, the thought of giving up never occurred to the women. Death there would be sweet compared to what it would be at the hands of the redmen.
At sunrise Silas Zane, bare-chested, his face dark and fierce, strode into the bastion which was connected with the blockhouse. It was a small shedlike room, and with portholes opening to the river and the forest. This bastion had seen the severest fighting. Five men had been killed here. As Silas entered four haggard and powder-begrimed men, who were kneeling before the portholes, looked up at him. A dead man lay in one corner.
”Smith's dead. That makes fifteen,” said Silas. ”Fifteen out of forty-two, that leaves twenty-seven. We must hold out. Len, don't expose yourselves recklessly. How goes it at the south bastion?”
”All right. There's been firin' over there all night,” answered one of the men. ”I guess it's been kinder warm over that way. But I ain't heard any shootin' for some time.”
”Young Bennet is over there, and if the men needed anything they would send him for it,” answered Silas. ”I'll send some food and water. Anything else?”
”Powder. We're nigh out of powder,” replied the man addressed. ”And we might jes as well make ready fer a high old time. The red devils hadn't been quiet all this last hour fer nothin'.”
Silas pa.s.sed along the narrow hallway which led from the bastion into the main room of the block-house. As he turned the corner at the head of the stairway he encountered a boy who was dragging himself up the steps.
”h.e.l.lo! Who's this? Why, Harry!” exclaimed Silas, grasping the boy and drawing him into the room. Once in the light Silas saw that the lad was so weak he could hardly stand. He was covered with blood. It dripped from a bandage wound tightly about his arm; it oozed through a hole in his hunting s.h.i.+rt, and it flowed from a wound over his temple. The shadow of death was already stealing over the pallid face, but from the grey eyes shone an indomitable spirit, a spirit which nothing but death could quench.
”Quick!” the lad panted. ”Send men to the south wall. The redskins are breakin' in where the water from the spring runs under the fence.”
”Where are Metzar and the other men?”
”Dead! Killed last night. I've been there alone all night. I kept on shootin'. Then I gets plugged here under the chin. Knowin' it's all up with me I deserted my post when I heard the Injuns choppin' on the fence where it was on fire last night. But I only--run--because--they're gettin' in.”
”Wetzel, Bennet, Clarke!” yelled Silas, as he laid the boy on the bench.
Almost as Silas spoke the tall form of the hunter confronted him.
Clarke and the other men were almost as prompt.
”Wetzel, run to the south wall. The Indians are cutting a hole through the fence.”
Wetzel turned, grabbed his rifle and an axe and was gone like a flash.