Silas Zane came running into the room.  His face was ghastly, even his lips were white and drawn.

“Sullivan, in God’s name, what can we do?  The powder is gone!” he cried in a strident voice.

“Gone?” repeated several voices.

“Gone?” echoed Sullivan.  “Where?”

“God knows.  I found where the kegs stood a few days ago.  There were marks in the dust.  They have been moved.”

“Perhaps Boggs put them here somewhere,” said Sullivan.  “We will look.”

“No use.  No use.  We were always careful to keep the powder out of here on account of fire.  The kegs are gone, gone.”

“Miller stole them,” said Wetzel in his calm voice.

“What difference does that make now?” burst out Silas, turning passionately on the hunter, whose quiet voice in that moment seemed so unfeeling.  “They’re gone!”

In the silence which ensued after these words the men looked at each other with slowly whitening faces.  There was no need of words.  Their eyes told one another what was coming.  The fate which had overtaken so many border forts was to be theirs.  They were lost!  And every man thought not of himself, cared not for himself, but for those innocent children, those brave young girls and heroic women.

A man can die.  He is glorious when he calmly accepts death; but when he fights like a tiger, when he stands at bay his back to the wall, a broken weapon in his hand, bloody, defiant, game to the end, then he is sublime.  Then he wrings respect from the souls of even his bitterest foes.  Then he is avenged even in his death.

But what can women do in times of war?  They help, they cheer, they inspire, and if their cause is lost they must accept death or worse.  Few women have the courage for self-destruction.  “To the victor belong the spoils,” and women have ever been the spoils of war.

No wonder Silas Zane and his men weakened in that moment.  With only a few charges for their rifles and none for the cannon how could they hope to hold out against the savages?  Alone they could have drawn their tomahawks and have made a dash through the lines of Indians, but with the women and the children that was impossible.

“Wetzel, what can we do?  For God’s sake, advise us!” said Silas hoarsely.  “We cannot hold the Fort without powder.  We cannot leave the women here.  We had better tomahawk every woman in the block-house than let her fall into the hands of Girty.”

“Send someone fer powder,” answered Wetzel.

“Do you think it possible,” said Silas quickly, a ray of hope lighting up his haggard features.  “There’s plenty of powder in Eb’s cabin.  Whom shall we send?  Who will volunteer?”

Three men stepped forward, and others made a movement.

“They’d plug a man full of lead afore he’d get ten foot from the gate,” said Wetzel.  “I’d go myself, but it wouldn’t do no good.  Send a boy, and one as can run like a streak.”