The backwoodsmen followed the trail swiftly all day long, and, by the help of the moon, late into the night.  Early next morning they again started and found themselves so near the Wyandots that Andrew Poe turned aside and went down to the bed of a neighboring stream, thinking to come up behind the Indians while they were menaced by his comrades in front.  Hearing a low murmur, he crept up through the bushes to a jutting rock on the brink of the watercourse, and peering cautiously over, he saw two Indians beneath him.  They were sitting under a willow, talking in deep whispers; one was an ordinary warrior, the other, by his gigantic size, was evidently the famous chief himself.  Andrew took steady aim at the big chiefs breast and pulled trigger.  The rifle flashed in the pan; and the two Indians sprang to their feet with a deep grunt of surprise.  For a second all three stared at one another.  Then Andrew sprang over the rock, striking the big Indian’s breast with a shock that bore him to the earth; while at the moment of alighting, he threw his arm round the small Indian’s neck, and all three rolled on the ground together.

At this instant they heard sharp firing in the woods above them.  The rest of the whites and Indians had discovered one another at the same time.  A furious but momentary fight ensued; three backwoodsmen and four Indians were killed outright, no other white being hurt, while the single remaining red warrior made his escape, though badly wounded.  But the three men who were struggling for life and death in the ravine had no time to pay heed to outside matters.  For a moment Andrew kept down both his antagonists, who were stunned by the shock; but before he could use his knife the big Indian wrapped him in his arms and held him as if in a vise.  This enabled the small Indian to wrest himself loose, when the big chief ordered him to run for his tomahawk, which lay on the sand ten feet away, and to kill the white man as he lay powerless in the chiefs arms.  Andrew could not break loose, but watching his chance, as the small Indian came up, he kicked him so violently in the chest that he knocked the tomahawk out of his hand and sent him staggering into the water.  Thereat the big chief grunted out his contempt, and thundered at the small Indian a few words that Andrew could not understand.  The small Indian again approached and after making several feints, struck with the tomahawk, but Andrew dodged and received the blow on his wrist instead of his head; and the wound though deep was not disabling.  By a sudden and mighty effort he now shook himself free from the giant, and snatching up a loaded rifle from the sand, shot the small Indian as he rushed on him.  But at that moment the larger Indian, rising up, seized him and hurled him to the ground.  He was on his feet in a second, and the two grappled furiously, their knives being lost; Andrew’s activity and skill as a wrestler and boxer making amends for his lack of strength.  Locked in each other’s