“Don’t waste time on me.  It’s all over,” he whispered.  “Will you call Betty here a minute?”

Betty came, white-faced and horror-stricken.  For forty hours she had been living in a maze of terror.  Her movements had almost become mechanical.  She had almost ceased to hear and feel.  But the light in the eyes of this dying boy brought her back to the horrible reality of the present.

“Oh, Harry!  Harry!  Harry!” was all Betty could whisper.

“I’m goin’, Betty.  And I wanted—­you to say a little prayer for me—­and say good-bye to me,” he panted.

Betty knelt by the bench and tried to pray.

“I hated to run, Betty, but I waited and waited and nobody came, and the Injuns was getting’ in.  They’ll find dead Injuns in piles out there.  I was shootin’ fer you, Betty, and every time I aimed I thought of you.”

The lad rambled on, his voice growing weaker and weaker and finally ceasing.  The hand which had clasped Betty’s so closely loosened its hold.  His eyes closed.  Betty thought he was dead, but no! he still breathed.  Suddenly his eyes opened.  The shadow of pain was gone.  In its place shone a beautiful radiance.

“Betty, I’ve cared a lot for you—­and I’m dyin’—­happy because I’ve fought fer you—­and somethin’ tells me—­you’ll—­be saved.  Good-bye.”  A smile transformed his face and his gray eyes gazed steadily into hers.  Then his head fell back.  With a sigh his brave spirit fled.

Hugh Bennet looked once at the pale face of his son, then he ran down the stairs after Silas and Clarke.  When the three men emerged from behind Capt.  Boggs’ cabin, which was adjacent to the block-house, and which hid the south wall from their view, they were two hundred feet from Wetzel.  They heard the heavy thump of a log being rammed against the fence; then a splitting and splintering of one of the six-inch oak planks.  Another and another smashing blow and the lower half of one of the planks fell inwards, leaving an aperture large enough to admit an Indian.  The men dashed forward to the assistance of Wetzel, who stood by the hole with upraised axe.  At the same moment a shot rang out.  Bennet stumbled and fell headlong.  An Indian had shot through the hole in the fence.  Silas and Alfred sheered off toward the fence, out of line.  When within twenty yards of Wetzel they saw a swarthy-faced and athletic savage squeeze through the narrow crevice.  He had not straightened up before the axe, wielded by the giant hunter, descended on his head, cracking his skull as if it were an eggshell.  The savage sank to the earth without even a moan.  Another savage naked and powerful, slipped in.  He had to stoop to get through.  He raised himself, and seeing Wetzel, he tried to dodge the lightning sweep of the axe.  It missed his head, at which it had been aimed, but struck just over the shoulders, and buried itself in flesh and bone.  The Indian uttered an agonizing yell which ended in a choking, gurgling