gazing upon the helpless captives five minutes or more, as if to picture indelibly upon his mind all the surroundings, Simon Kenton began moving to and fro across the end of the room, not on the alert against the enemy, but apparently plunged in deep thought.
After a time he said curtly to me:
"Keep a lookout on either side, lad, for some of the snakes may grow careless, an' you will get a shot."
Then he fell to pacing to and fro again, and after what seemed a very long time of most painful silence, said to me as if announcing the most commonplace fact:
"I count on lendin' a hand to those poor fellows yonder."
"Lending a hand!" I repeated in amazement. "Haven't you declared it was impossible to leave this house without being shot down?"
"Yes, an' I reckon that comes pretty near being the truth."
"Then how may you give them any assistance?"
"I am not countin' on tryin' to do anything just now. There's like to be plenty of time, for unless something happens to interrupt the curs, they will not torture the prisoners until evening. When the sun goes down I shall creep out."
"And then is the time when the Indians will keep a closer watch," I ventured to say.
"Ay, lad, you are right, and yet we must contrive to outwit them. Instead of openin' the door, I'll make my way through the small window at the rear, which can be the better guarded by you and your mother while the shutter is unfastened."
"I shall go with you," I said, speaking on impulse, and hardly realizing the meaning of the words.
"You'll do nothing of the kind. Your duty is here, and mine there."
CHAPTER III.
THE VENTURE
I could not believe Simon Kenton would dare to make the venture of which he had spoken, for of a verity it seemed no less than the killing of one's self.
We knew beyond a peradventure that the Indians secreted in the thicket round about us were keeping sharp watch over the cabin, on the alert for a movement of such a kind, and there was not a single chance in a hundred that one of us could even show his head out of either window or door without being shot down.
That being the case, and there seemed no doubt about it, how might one venture forth so far as where the poor captives were lashed to the trees looking forward with almost certainty to all the terrible tortures which these brutes could devise?
Thinking over the matter after Simon Kenton had declared his purpose, I said to myself that he had spoken out of the fulness of his heart, and not with a belief that he might carry his proposition into execution. I argued, mentally, that his desire to aid the unfortunate creatures had caused him to believe the impossible might be accomplished; but after he should have time to consider the matter thoroughly, he would realize that he could effect nothing more than his own death.
After having said what he would do, Kenton paced to and fro, keeping sharp watch upon the thicket, and saying nothing.
Once I would have spoken concerning the time when Major Clarke's party might be expected at Corn Island; but he motioned me away as if he had no inclination for conversation.
I had promised myself not to look out in the direction where the unhappy captives were to be seen; but it was as if their helplessness fascinated me to such a degree that I could not keep my eyes from them.
I gazed at short intervals, but for no more than a few seconds at a time, and saw no change, save once when it appeared to me as if the man was speaking earnestly to the boy.
I could readily fancy that the elder was trying to encourage the lad for that terrible time of trial, and the tears overflowed my eyes as I grew faint with horror while thinking of what the evening would bring forth.
There is no good reason why I should try to give the details of our movements or conversation during this wofully long day. We spoke together but little, first because Simon Kenton was buried in his own thoughts or plans, and secondly because my mother's grief had been aroused by sight of the captives to such an extent that her sobs put an end to speech.
Twice did Kenton get a glimpse of a tuft of feathers in the underbrush, and both times he discharged his rifle; once bringing forth a shrill cry of pain, and again evidently missing his aim, which was by no means surprising under the circumstances.
Late in the afternoon mother cooked another meal, and we went through the form of eating as if from a sense of duty. It was but justice to our bodies for us to do so, since no one could say when we might have another opportunity.
Then the shadows of evening began to lengthen, and I glanced at Simon Kenton from time to time in order to learn how he might draw back after having announced so positively that he should make an effort at aiding the captives.
But he had no idea of drawing back, as I should have known had I been acquainted with him longer.
During the latter part of the afternoon he surveyed the thicket in the rear of the house at frequent intervals; partially opened the shutter two or three times to make certain it could be swung outward noiselessly, and, finally, threw off his hunting shirt lest the garment should hamper his movements.
"Are you indeed counting on the attempt?" I asked when he had thus put himself in trim for wriggling through the thicket.
"I have already said so," he replied calmly.
"There is too much danger! You must not risk your life when the chances are all against you!" I cried vehemently.
"It will be easier to go than stay here and listen to that fiendish orgy which will begin before many hours have passed!"
"You can hope to do no more than share the poor fellow's fate!" I exclaimed impatiently.
"There is a chance I shall pull through, and the game is well worth the candle. I may not tell the story to you; but there are good reasons why I, above all others, should risk my life in an effort to save others; or, to put it in other words, why I ought to die trying to help those poor fellows, rather than remain idle."
He spoke in such a solemn tone that I could not have argued further against his going, however much it pained me, and I gazed at him in silence, wondering what might be the meaning of those strange words.
Now that it appeared positive he would set forth, and equally certain he would be killed, I began to realize what might be our condition after he had left my mother and myself alone to defend the cabin against the painted crew who thirsted for our blood.
It was not probable the poor woman and I could hold out many hours after the brave fellow departed, however good our courage or strong our endurance. The Indians would speedily overpower us, and I knew full well what the end must be unless I was so fortunate as to die fighting.
Therefore it was as if I was assisting in an attempt to take my own life, when I did as Simon Kenton bid.
"You are to stand by the window as I leap out," he said when the evening was nearly come, "and on the first flash of a redskin's rifle shoot at random if you see no target. The smoke will serve to partially hide my movements. Your mother is to take up her station at the front door until she hears you fire, and then she'll shoot over my head as soon as possible. I'm countin' that you can keep the savages back till I've gained a shelter in the thicket. After that the
