She raised herself just a little on one elbow and surveyed the surrounding thicket.

She saw only the dead embers of the fire, and the dark forms of the Indians lying upon the bare ground.
Had it not been for the knife and pistol in her hand, she could have believed that the voice was only a dream.
There was a slight rustling in the thicket, and a Seneca rose quickly to his knees, grasping his rifle in both hands.

The woman's fingers clutched the knife and pistol more tightly, and her whole gaunt figure trembled.

The Seneca listened only a moment.

Then he gave a sharp cry, and all the other warriors sprang up.