The moments dragged away.  The children had fallen asleep on the bearskin rug.  Mrs. Zane and Betty had heard the Colonel’s voice, and sat with white faces, waiting, waiting for they knew not what.

A familiar, light-moccasined tread sounded on the path, a tall figure loomed up from the darkness; it came up the path, passed up the steps, and crossed the threshold.

“Wetzel!” exclaimed Col.  Zane and Capt.  Boggs.  It was indeed the hunter.  How startling was his appearance!  The buckskin hunting coat and leggins were wet, torn and bespattered with mud; the water ran and dripped from him to form little muddy pools on the floor; only his rifle and powder horn were dry.  His face was ghastly white except where a bullet wound appeared on his temple, from which the blood had oozed down over his cheek.  An unearthly light gleamed from his eyes.  In that moment Wetzel was an appalling sight.

“Col.  Zane, I’d been here days before, but I run into some Shawnees, and they gave me a hard chase.  I have to report that Girty, with four hundred Injuns and two hundred Britishers, are on the way to Ft.  Henry.”

“My God!” exclaimed Col.  Zane.  Strong man as he was the hunter’s words had unnerved him.

The loud and clear tone of the church-bell rang out on the still night air.  Only once it sounded, but it reverberated among the hills, and its single deep-toned ring was like a knell.  The listeners almost expected to hear it followed by the fearful war-cry, that cry which betokened for many desolation and death.

CHAPTER XIII.

Morning found the settlers, with the exception of Col.  Zane, his brother Jonathan, the negro Sam, and Martin Wetzel, all within the Fort.  Col.  Zane had determined, long before, that in the event of another siege, he would use his house as an outpost.  Twice it had been destroyed by fire at the hands of the Indians.  Therefore, surrounding himself by these men, who were all expert marksmen, Col.  Zane resolved to protect his property and at the same time render valuable aid to the Fort.

Early that morning a pirogue loaded with cannon balls, from Ft.  Pitt and bound for Louisville, had arrived and Captain Sullivan, with his crew of three men, had demanded admittance.  In the absence of Capt.  Boggs and Major McColloch, both of whom had been dispatched for reinforcements, Col.  Zane had placed his brother Silas in command of the Fort.  Sullivan informed Silas that he and his men had been fired on by Indians and that they sought the protection of the Fort.  The services of himself and men, which he volunteered, were gratefully accepted.

All told, the little force in the block-house did not exceed forty-two, and that counting the boys and the women who could handle rifles.  The few preparations had been completed and now the settlers were awaiting the appearance of the enemy.  Few words were spoken.  The children were secured where they would be out of the way of flying bullets.  They were huddled together silent and frightened; pale-faced but resolute women passed up and down the length of the block-house; some carried buckets of water and baskets of food; others were tearing bandages; grim-faced men peered from the portholes; all were listening for the war-cry.