Whether he had received a blow upon the head, or had been stunned by the force of the fall from his horse, Oliver Barclay did not know. But, in any event, when he recovered consciousness, he found himself bound hand and foot and securely fastened to a tree in the heart of the Shawnee camp.

Near him sat a young savage whose left hand was swathed in bandages; and in the flickering firelight which fell upon this brave’s face, Oliver recognized Long Panther.

“Well,” said the lad with as much unconcern as he could assume, “you have me, Long Panther.”

The coppery face of the Shawnee turned toward the white boy; and the light of the fire was not more deep than the light in his eyes. But beyond this he showed nothing but the stoical front of his race.

“Yes,” said he, “we have you. And I do not think another will mount and ride for help to-night.”

“I hope not, if he’s not to have better fortune than I’ve had,” said Oliver.

“In two suns we could take the cabin of the white man,” said Long Panther, his burning eyes turning in the direction of the Curley cabin. “But the time is short. At dawn we must take the trail. The Mingo chief, Logan, calls, and we go to him that we may strike a harder blow.”

Oliver felt a thrill of gladness at the news that the siege upon the log house was to be lifted, and that the Shawnees were about to abandon their purpose.

“If I had only known that,” was his thought, “I might have stayed comfortably inside and learned in the morning that all danger was past.”

But, as the venture he had made had seemed the best thing to do under the circumstances, he did not waste any regrets upon it; instead, he gave up his thoughts entirely to the situation in which he found himself, and began studying out a plan of escape.

“Many things,” said Long Panther, somberly, “I have suffered at the hands of the white man. And I have desired vengeance. This,” and he held up his bandaged left hand, “is the last.”

That Long Panther had been the marksman behind the tree butt now, for the first time, occurred to Oliver; the bullet from Eph’s rifle had found a shining mark, indeed.

“It is the hand with which I hold the bow,” mourned the young savage. “And in the battles that are to come, I cannot do the work that has been given me. But the white face will pay,” said he, as he arose to his feet and stood looking down at Oliver. “The white face will pay.”

He turned and stalked away; and as the eyes of the white boy followed him there seemed to be an ominous something in the very way in which he bore himself—a threat of reprisal that was to come.

But whatever gloomy fears found a place in young Barclay’s mind, they were not realized that night at least. He slept where he lay, under guard of three unwinking redskins. And when morning came he was given some food, his hands were pinioned behind him, and with a rope tied about his body, the other end of which was fast to the saddle of a warrior, he was forced to march in the midst of the band which began filing through the forest toward the great meeting place of the hostile tribes.

On the way they were joined by other war parties of their own nation; and by nightfall of the following day, young Barclay found himself in the heart of a vast Indian encampment. Far into the night he saw the council fires burning and saw the chiefs and head men of the nations gathered in conference. He heard the celebrated Logan. He heard Cornstalk and his great son Elenipsico as they stood out before the leaders of the tribes and poured forth their torrents of eloquence. That he understood little or nothing of the Indian language made scarcely any difference in the effect the orations had upon the boy. The manner of the great chiefs, their expressions as they recounted their grievances, the fierce passion of their appeal to the silent circle with its iron faces, sent a chill to his heart. He saw that the coming struggle was to be no mean one, that the frontier was, indeed, to be a blaze from end to end.

But what was to be done in his own case of course naturally interested him more than anything else. In a time like this, when open war was declared and the tribes gathered to defy the forces of the colonies, prisoners were seldom taken, and when they were, it was for the purpose of putting them to the torture.

Oliver had heard the grisly tales the old frontiersmen had to tell of the stake, of the running of the gauntlet, and the various other barbarities that the savage mind conceived, and visions of these rose before his eyes. But, for all, he was shrewd enough and clear-sighted enough to perceive that these things were gone through with at the Indians’ leisure.

“Just now,” he told himself, “they have much more important matters before them; I shall get their attention later; and even at that, much sooner, perhaps, than I want it.”

The Virginia Legislature had called into being an army of something more than a thousand fighting men, and these were now encamped at a place called Point Pleasant, not more than a few hours’ ride from the encampment of Logan and his fellow chiefs.

Oliver drew from his captor’s manner that the day of battle was near; but that it was to be on the one that was next to break he had no idea until the dawn brought those preparations which were unmistakable. Like a great fan the Mingos, the Wyandots, the Cayugas, the Delawares and the Shawnees spread themselves through the forest; like panthers stalking their prey they advanced.

And this knowledge put a great hope in his heart, for on the morning his guards had not bound his arms with their customary care; in their hurry to be gone they had slighted this duty; and now Oliver knew that it required only a slight struggle to give him the use of his hands. However, he made no sign of this, plodding on in the midst of the Shawnees, apparently dejected and heavy of mind, but in reality keenly observant and watching like a hawk for any chance that would give him liberty.

Now as it happened, some of the whites desired fresh meat that morning and a hunting party of two was in pursuit of deer. These hunters, swift of foot and eager, were following the deer tracks and, for the time, never dreaming of the enemy; then they plunged upon the main body of the Indians and for an instant were so struck with surprise that they stood motionless and staring. A scattering of rifle shots followed; one of the men dropped to the earth, the other bounded away into the thicket and made back toward the encampment of the Virginia army. A few hours later the still advancing Indians encountered several large bodies of whites drawn up in military array. Under cover of a flight of arrows the savages drew back; and the voices of Cornstalk and Logan were lifted, calling on them to be as cunning as foxes and unyielding as rocks.

“This day,” said Logan, “shall see the redressing of much wrong, my children. We shall strike the hand which is lifted over us!”

“Sons of the forest!” cried the really noble savage, Cornstalk, “stand fast! The white faces are before you. The sun has lifted upon the day which is to give you victory!”

Having reached a ground which would give them an advantage, the Indians made a stand and began to rain arrows and lead upon the soldiers of the colony. In almost the first fire the colonels of the two regiments fell dead. A confusion seized the troops, and as it spread from rank to rank they began a retreat full of disorder.

This panic of the whites was seen by Oliver as he stood under guard among the trees, and the boy’s heart sank at the sight.

“They run!” said a voice beside him, and turning he recognized Long Panther. “They run like wolves before a forest fire. And you, my white brother, thought they would strike hard and save you!”

Oliver made no reply; and the young Shawnee spoke to the guard in the Indian tongue. They seemed pleased at his words and called out to some others who stood by, not taking part in the attack. Like a flash the message ran along the line of the Indians; and Oliver, though he did not dream of what was coming, saw their grim looks turned upon him and caught a savage satisfaction in them.

“Once,” said Long Panther, “you felt proud of your fleetness; in your pride you thought you could outrun the Shawnees.” His glowing eyes fixed themselves upon Oliver, glowing with a deeper fire than ever. “And I,” went on Long Panther, “told you there might come a day when the Shawnee’d run you a race. That day has now come.”

“What do you mean?” asked the white boy.

“There are your friends,” and Long Panther pointed toward the retreating regiments. “We give you permission to go to them if—if you can outrun the arrows which will follow you.”

Oliver Barclay’s face blanched; but a resolution showed in his tightening jaw.

“And if I refuse——”

“Worse may befall you.”

For a moment Oliver hesitated; he saw the line of Indians, their copper-colored faces full of anticipation, the deadly bows in their hands. But he said, firmly:

“What chance have I? Your brothers will pierce me before I’ve taken a dozen steps.” His eyes searched the ground ahead, and then he added: “Give me a start. Let me reach the boulder yonder before you give the word, and I will run.”

“I agree,” said Long Panther, with savage satisfaction.

He once more spoke to the Shawnees about him and again the word was passed along the line. And the satisfaction of Long Panther was reflected in the faces of all.

“When my white brother is ready,” said the maimed bowman looking at Oliver, “I will speak the word.”

Oliver braced himself for the ordeal.

“I am ready,” said he.

Long Panther cried out a warning to the warriors; then to Oliver he said:

“Run!”

HE INCREASED HIS SPEED

With his hands held behind him by the loosened thongs, Oliver started to run. To the right the Cayugas, the Mingos and the Wyandots were still pressing after the whites; but directly ahead all was clear. With his eyes on the boulder the boy ran slowly. This he thought the better way, as to show a burst of speed might excite the savages, and they might loose their arrows before the time agreed. As it was, their merciless natures quickly manifested themselves; when within a little distance of the rock an arrow whizzed by the boy’s head. Feeling sure that this would be instantly followed by more, he increased his speed; with a headlong plunge he was behind the boulder, and a whirring as of a hundred pairs of wings was all around him, the arrows knocking up clouds of dust as they struck the ground.

A wild yell went up from the Shawnees as the boy disappeared behind the rock; at once they saw that he had shrewdly calculated upon this shelter when he asked that they not fire until he reached it. And with hatchet, knife and spear, they rushed at him.

Oliver slipped his hands free of the thongs, his quick glance going about to see what was the next best thing to do. And then as the savages sped toward him he heard a shout—deep and charged with victory. A third regiment of whites had advanced to the support of the panic-stricken ones; their rifle fire was deadly and they came at full speed. The Mingos, the Wyandots and Cayugas faltered in the face of this unexpected blow; and they fell back upon the line of Delawares and Shawnees.

At sight of the cloud of warriors in full retreat, the Shawnees rushing upon Oliver paused. Here was graver and more earnest work than the harrying of a single boy and so they turned and hastened to the support of their friends.

Realizing what had happened, the white boy was off like a shot toward the lines of the advancing frontiersmen; how he gained this over a field swept by bullets and arrows he never understood, but gain it he did and a few minutes later with the rifle, powder-horn and bullet-pouch of a fallen soldier, he was loading and firing in the ranks with as much coolness and dispatch as the best of them.

The Indians must have had an advance party on the battle-ground some time before the main body, for it was now learned that their retreat was to a line of fortification made of logs, earth and brush. Behind this they stood firm. The Indians showed that they were possessed of many rifles and a good store of powder; for hours there was a blaze of fire from across the breastwork; and the barbed arrows drove like messengers of death among the whites. Fully fifteen hundred fighting men were behind the fortification and continually the voices of Red Eagle, of Cornstalk or Logan could be heard urging them to fight on.

Charge after charge was made upon this strong place by the Virginia army; General Lewis saw his men falling all about him and realized after a little time that some other method must be pursued if he was to save his force from annihilation.

“Try and get a body of troops in their rear,” was a suggestion which he instantly grasped. As it happened, the bank of the Kanawha River favored such a movement; three picked companies under three dare-devil leaders were sent to make the attempt.

There was a small stream called Crooked Creek which flowed into the Kanawha. The three companies managed to cross this; its banks were covered with a rank growth of tall weeds; and through this crept the whites upon the unsuspecting savages.

At a word a deadly volley swept into the dense body of Indians; taken utterly by surprise, they were thrown into complete confusion. No foe had been expected from that quarter, and, from the fury of the onset, they thought it must be a heavy body of reinforcements. Completely disheartened they gave way; as the sun went down they were retreating across the Ohio River; and at the fall of night were pressing on through the forest toward their distant villages.