“The Shemanoes!” “The Long Knives!” not knowing whether to stand or fly.

Girty, meantime, had been left unharmed; although the shivering of the helve of the tomahawk in his hand, in front of his breast, showed him he had been a target for no mean marksman, and that his life had been preserved almost by a miracle.  For a moment he stood irresolute—­his nostrils fairly dilated with fear and rage, still holding Ella by the wrist, who was too paralyzed with what she had seen to speak or move—­straining his eyes in every direction to note, if possible, the number of his foes and whence their approach.  The whole glance was momentary; but he saw himself nearly surrounded by his enemies, who were fast closing in toward the center with fierce yells; and pausing no longer in indecision, he encircled Ella’s waist with his left arm, raised her from the ground, and keeping her as much as possible between himself and his enemies, to deter them from firing, darted away toward a thicket, some fifty yards distant, pursued by two of the attacking party.

Just as Girty gained the thicket, one of his pursuers made a sudden bound forward and grasped him by the arm; but his hold was the next moment shaken off by the renegade, who, being now rendered desperate, drew a pistol from his belt, with the rapidity of lightning, and laid the bold adventurer dead at his feet.  Almost at the same moment, Girty received a blow on the back of his head, from the breech of the rifle of his other antagonist, that staggered him forward; when, releasing his hold of Ella, he turned and darted off in another direction, firing a pistol as he went, the ball of which whizzed close to the head of him for whom it was designed; and in a moment more he was lost in the mazes of the forest.

Meantime the bloody work was going forward in the center; for at the moment when Girty darted away, the report of some three or four rifles again echoed through the wood, two more of the red warriors bit the dust, while the other two fled in opposite directions, leaving Boone and his party sole masters of the field.

Eager, excited, reckless and wild, several of the young men now rushed forward, with yells of triumph, to the wounded Indians, whom they immediately tomahawked without mercy, and began to scalp, when the voice of Boone, who had been more cautious, reached them from a distance: 

“Beware o’ the fire-light, lads! or the red varmints will draw a bead[11] on some of ye.”

Scarcely were the words uttered, ere his warning was sadly fulfilled; for the two savages finding they were not pursued, and thirsting for revenge, turned and fired almost simultaneously, with aims so deadly, that one of the young men, by the name of Beecher, fell mortally wounded and expired a moment after; and another, by the name of Morris, had his wrist shattered by a ball.  This fatal event produced a panic in the others, who at once fled precipitately into the darkness, leaving Mrs. Younker, who had by this time gained her feet, standing alone by the fire, a bewildered spectator of the terrible tragedies that had so lately been enacted by her side.  To her Boone now immediately advanced, notwithstanding the caution he had given the others; and turning to him as he came up, the good lady exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment: