"Are you mad, man?" cried Girty. "Do you know our force? Do you know your own? Resistance is folly."
"I know you, Simon Girty. That is enough to know. You have my answer."
In a rage, Girty hurled back a volley of dark threats, then turned away, and ordered an instant attack. Unluckily for the garrison, some of the deserted log-huts were sufficiently near to shelter the Indians, and enable them to assault the fort under cover. They swarmed into these houses, and for six hours kept up an incessant fire on the works, wasting their bullets, as it proved, for none of them did harm to fort or man. As for the defenders, they had no ammunition to waste. But most of them were sharp-shooters, and they took good care that every bullet should tell. Nearly every report from behind the walls told a story of wound or death. As good fortune willed, the savages had no artillery, and were little disposed to hazard their dusky skins in an assault in force on the well-defended walls.
At midday the attack temporarily ceased. The Indians withdrew to the base of Wheeling Hill, and the uproar of yells and musketry was replaced by a short season of quiet. It was a fortunate reprieve for the whites. Their powder was almost exhausted. Had the assault continued for an hour longer their rifles must have ceased to reply.
What was to be done? The Indians had withdrawn only for rest and food. They would soon be at their threatening work again. Answer to them could not long be continued. When the fire from the fort ceased all would be over. The exultant savages would swarm over the undefended walls, and torture and outrage be the lot of all who were not fortunate enough to die in the assault.
Ebenezer Zane looked wistfully at his house, sixty yards away.
"There is a keg of powder within those walls," he said. "If we only had it here it might mean the difference between safety and death."
"A keg of powder!" cried Colonel Sheppard. "We must have it, whatever the danger!" He looked out. The Indians were within easy gunshot. Whoever went for the powder ran the most imminent risk of death. The appearance of a man outside the gates would be the signal for a fierce fusillade. "But we must have it," he repeated. "And we can spare but one man for the task. Who shall it be? I cannot order any one to such a duty. What man is ready to volunteer?"
Every man, apparently; they all thronged forward, each eager for the perilous effort. They struggled, indeed, so long for the honor that there was danger of the Indians returning to the assault before the powder was obtained.
At this interval a woman stepped forward. It was Elizabeth Zane. The fire of a noble purpose shone on her earnest face.