“There are no lads big enough to carry a keg of powder.  Harry Bennett might go,” said Silas.  “How is he, Bessie?”

“He is dead,” answered Mrs. Zane.

Wetzel made a motion with his hands and turned away.  A short, intense silence followed this indication of hopelessness from him.  The women understood, for some of them covered their faces, while others sobbed.

“I will go.”

It was Betty’s voice, and it rang clear and vibrant throughout the room.  The miserable women raised their drooping heads, thrilled by that fresh young voice.  The men looked stupefied.  Clarke seemed turned to stone.  Wetzel came quickly toward her.

“Impossible!” said Sullivan.

Silas Zane shook his head as if the idea were absurd.

“Let me go, brother, let me go?” pleaded Betty as she placed her little hands softly, caressingly on her brother’s bare arm.  “I know it is only a forlorn chance, but still it is a chance.  Let me take it.  I would rather die that way than remain here and wait for death.”

“Silas, it ain’t a bad plan,” broke in Wetzel.  “Betty can run like a deer.  And bein’ a woman they may let her get to the cabin without shootin’.”

Silas stood with arms folded across his broad chest.  As he gazed at his sister great tears coursed down his dark cheeks and splashed on the hands which so tenderly clasped his own.  Betty stood before him transformed; all signs of weariness had vanished; her eyes shone with a fateful resolve; her white and eager face was surpassingly beautiful with its light of hope, of prayer, of heroism.

“Let me go, brother.  You know I can run, and oh!  I will fly today.  Every moment is precious.  Who knows?  Perhaps Capt.  Boggs is already near at hand with help.  You cannot spare a man.  Let me go.”

“Betty, Heaven bless and save you, you shall go,” said Silas.

“No!  No!  Do not let her go!” cried Clarke, throwing himself before them.  He was trembling, his eyes were wild, and he had the appearance of a man suddenly gone mad.

“She shall not go,” he cried.

“What authority have you here?” demanded Silas Zane, sternly.  “What right have you to speak?”

“None, unless it is that I love her and I will go for her,” answered Alfred desperately.

“Stand back!” cried Wetzel, placing his powerful hard on Clarke’s breast and pushing him backward.  “If you love her you don’t want to have her wait here for them red devils,” and he waved his hand toward the river.  “If she gets back she’ll save the Fort.  If she fails she’ll at least escape Girty.”

Betty gazed into the hunter’s eyes and then into Alfred’s.  She understood both men.  One was sending her out to her death because he knew it would be a thousand times more merciful than the fate which awaited her at the hands of the Indians.  The other had not the strength to watch her go to her death.  He had offered himself rather than see her take such fearful chances.