Fire, the Shawnee chief, lay dead in the road almost in the same spot where two days before his brother chief, Red Fox, had bit the dust.

The British had long since retreated.
When night came the exhausted and almost famished besiegers sought rest and food.
The moon came out clear and beautiful, as if ashamed at her traitor's part of the night before, and brightened up the valley, bathing the Fort, the river, and the forest in her silver light.
Shortly after daybreak the next morning the Indians, despairing of success, held a pow-wow.

While they were grouped in plain view of the garrison, and probably conferring over the question of raising the siege, the long, peculiar whoop of an Indian spy, who had been sent out to watch for the approach of a relief party, rang out.

This seemed a signal for retreat.

Scarcely had the shrill cry ceased to echo in the hills when the Indians and the British, abandoning their dead, moved rapidly across the river.
After a short interval a mounted force was seen galloping up the creek road.