One was Henry and the other a mighty Shawnee warrior, naked to the waist, and striving to use a tomahawk that he held in a hand whose wrist was clenched in the iron grasp of his foe.

Lying almost at their feet was the body of another warrior, stark and dead.
Paul sprang forward, his second and loaded rifle in his hand.
"No, no, Paul!" cried Henry.

"The chimney! Look to the chimney!" Paul whirled about, and he was just in time.

A savage warrior dropped down the great wide chimney that all the log cabins had, and fell lightly on his feet among the dead embers of a month ago.

His face was distorted horribly with ferocity, and Paul, all the rage of battle upon him now that battle had come, fired squarely at the red forehead, the rifle muzzle only three feet away.