The blood flushed into Paul’s face.

“I’m ready for it!” he exclaimed.  “I’m as ready as any of you!  Do you think I want to run away?”

“We know, Paul, that you’ve got ez much grit ez anybody in the world,” said Tom Ross kindly; “but Sol maybe didn’t think a boy that’s a big scholar, an’ that kin read an’ understand anything, would he as much interested in a real hair-raisin’ fight as the rest o’ us.”

Paul was mollified.  He knew their minds now, and in a way it was an unconscious tribute that these wild borderers paid to him.

“I’m with you to the end of it,” he said.  And they, too, were satisfied.  Then the entire party moved forward into the deep woods, watching and listening for the slightest sign of the Shawnee advance.  Tom Ross naturally took command, but Henry Ware, as always, was first scout.  No other eye was so keen as his, nor any other ear.  All knew it, and all admitted it willingly.  His form expanded again, and fierce joy surged up in his heart.  As Ross truly said, the hunted had turned into the hunter.

It was the purpose of the men to circle to the east, and to strike the war party on the Hank.  They knew that the Shawnees had already discovered the junction of the fugitives with a larger force, but the warriors could not yet know that the new party intended to stand and fight.  Ross, therefore, like the general of a great army going into battle, intended to seek the best possible position for his force.

They traveled in a half circle for perhaps two hours, and then Henry struck a trail, calling at once to Ross.  They examined it carefully, and judged that it had been made by a force of about twenty warriors, undoubtedly the band that was following Henry and Paul.

“We’re behind ’em now,” said Henry.

“But they’ll soon be coming back on our trail,” said Ross.  “They know that they are more than two to one, and they will follow hard.”

“I’m gittin’ mighty tired ag’in,” said Shif’less Sol.  “It ’pears to me thar’s a pow’ful good place fur us to rest over thar among all them big trees on that little hill.”

Ross and Henry examined the hill, which was not very high, but small, and crowned with mighty beeches.  The great tree-trunks would offer admirable cover for the wilderness fighter.

“It does kinder invite us,” said Ross meaningly, “so we’ll jest go over thar, Sol, an’ set a while longer.”

A few minutes later they were on the hill, each man lying behind a tree of his own selection.  Shif’less Sol had chosen a particularly large one, and luckily there was some soft turf growing over its roots.  He stretched himself out luxuriously.

“Now, this jest suits an easy-goin’ man like me,” he said.  “I could lay here all day jest a-dreamin’, never disturbin’ nobody, an’ nobody disturbin’ me.  Paul, you and me ain’t got no business here.  We wuz cut out fur scholars, we wuz.”

Nevertheless, lazy and luxurious as he looked, Shif’less Sol watched the forest with eyes that missed nothing.  His rifle lay in such a position that he could take aim almost instantly.