The defenders did not advance without loss.  Now and then a man sank and died in the stream, many others suffered wounds, and even the women and children did not escape; but through it all, through all the roar and tumult, all the shouting and cries, the train drew steadily closer to the western bank.

“Now, boys,” shouted Shif’less Sol to his faithful fifty, “they’re about to run!  Pour it into ’em!”

At the same time Tom Ross was giving a similar command to his own equally faithful fifty, and they closed up on the flank of the allied tribes, and stung and stung.  Henry Ware, through the drifting clouds of smoke and vapor, saw the savages waver again, and, shouting to the boldest to follow, he rushed forward.  Then Shawnees, Miamis, and Wyandots, despite the fierce commands of Yellow Panther and Red Eagle, broke and fled from the water to the shore.  There Tom Ross stung them more fiercely than ever on the flank, and the fire of Shif’less Sol from the high bluff reached them with deadly aim.  They broke again, and, filled with superstitious terror at their awful losses, fled, a panic horde, into the woods.

“On, on!” shouted Henry Ware, in tremendous tones.  “They run, they run!”

The whole train seemed to heave forward, as if by one convulsive but triumphant movement.  Shif’less Sol and his men came down from the bluff and dashed into the water behind them; Ross and his fifty came forward from the thicket to meet them; and thus, dripping with water, smoke, blood, and sweat, the whole train passed up the western bank.  The terrible ford had been won!

CHAPTER XXI

THE FLIGHT OF LONG JIM

Although the terrible ford had been won, Henry Ware knew that the danger was far from over.  The savages, caught on the flank and shot down from above, had yielded to momentary panic, but they would come again.  To any souls less daring than this band of pioneers, the situation would have been truly appalling.  They were in the vast and unknown wilderness, surrounded everywhere by the black forest, with the horde, hungry for slaughter, still hanging upon their flanks; but among them all, scarce one woman or child showed a craven heart.

Led by Henry Ware, the wagons filed into an open space—­a plain or little prairie—­about a quarter of a mile beyond the ford, and there, still following his instructions, they drew up in a circle.  He considered this open space a godsend, as no marksmen hidden in the woods could reach them there with a bullet.  As soon as the circle was completed, the women and children poured forth from the wagons, and began to join the men in fortifying.  There was mingled joy for victory and grief for loss.  They had left dead behind in the river, and they had brought more with them; of wounds, except those that threatened to be mortal, they took little count.  Even as they worked, scattering shots were fired from the forest, but they paid no heed to them, as all the bullets fell short.