“But what is it?—­what is it as troubles her so?” inquired an old woman, in a voice tremulous with age, who, being somewhat of a new-comer, had not heard the oft-repeated story.

“I’ll tell it ye—­I’ll tell it ye,” answered another gossiping crone, standing beside the querist, who, fearful of being forestalled, now eagerly began her scandalous narration.

Meantime, the male portion of the crowd had resumed their conversation, concerning the unfortunate campaign of Crawford; during which manifold invectives were bestowed upon the savages, and the renegade Girty.  Some of the more reckless among them were for raising another army, as soon as possible, to pursue the Indians, even to the death, and spare none that fell into their hands, neither the aged, women, nor children; but these propositions were speedily overruled by cooler and wiser heads; who stated that Kentucky had scarcely fighting men enough to protect one another on their own ground—­much less to march into the enemy’s country, and leave their wives and children exposed to certain destruction.

While these discussions were in progress, the attention of each was suddenly arrested by the cry of some person from the right hand block-house, looking toward the south, announcing that a single horseman was approaching with a speed which betokened evil tidings.  These were times of excitement, when news of disaster and death was borne on almost every breeze; and consequently all now sprung rapidly to the southern pickets, where, through loop-holes and crevices in the partially decayed pallisades, they perceived an individual riding as if for life.

“How he rides!—­Who is it?—­What can have happened?” were some of the remarks now rapidly uttered, as the horseman was seen bounding forward on his foaming steed.  Instantly the nearest gate was thrown open; and, in less than two minutes, horse and rider stood within the enclosure, surrounded by a breathless multitude, eager for his intelligence.

“Arm!” cried the horseman, a good looking youth of eighteen:  “Arm—­all that can be spared—­and on to the rescue!”

“What’s happened, Dick Allison?” asked one who had recognized the rider.

“I have it on the best authority,” answered Dick, “that Hoy’s Station has just been attacked, by a large body of Indians, and Captain Holder and his men defeated.”

“But whar d’ye get your news?” inquired another voice; while a look of alarm, and resolute determination to avenge the fallen, could be seen depicted on the upturned countenances of the assemblage.

“I was riding in that direction, when I met a messenger on his way to Lexington for assistance; and turning my horse, I spurred hither with all speed.”

“Have the red devils got possession of the fort?” inquired another.

“I am not certain, for I did not wait to hear particulars; but I’m under the impression they have not, and that Holder was defeated outside the walls.”