"The rangers have come! We are saved!"
It was true, the command under Lieutenant Baldwick had come up after a long running fight with some Indians journeying toward the fort. These redskins had been put to flight and with them about a dozen French trappers and traders under Jean Bevoir, one of the trappers having been slain, along with two Indians. Now the rangers were fighting desperately to get to those hemmed in at the fort.
The coming of the soldiers put new life in the pioneers and the battle broke forth afresh. Struck at from both the front and the rear the Indians received a galling fire which filled them with sudden terror.
In the midst of the rangers were James Morris and Sam Barringford. Dave's father was cool and determined and every shot from his musket was sent with deadly effect. Barringford seemed to be in his element, and danced around so rapidly that not an Indian could draw a "bead" upon him.
"Thet for ye!" he yelled, firing his gun at the nearest warrior. "An' how do yer like thet, eh?"—hitting a second with the butt of the weapon. "I'll show ye! Ain't I a roarin' painter when I'm cut loose! Cl'ar the track fer the bustin', roarin' whirlwind!" And thus shouting in the style peculiar to the old-time trappers of that period he rushed in, literally cutting a path over the rocks and into the fort proper. An arrow stuck through his coonskin cap and his hunting jacket was ripped in a dozen places by knives and tomahawks, yet with it all he seemed to bear a charmed life and laid low every warrior who dared to bar his progress.
In less than ten minutes after the rangers had appeared and closed in the Indians began to retreat. Seeing them thus on the run, the pioneers and soldiers increased their efforts and soon the warriors were only too glad to get back into the forest. They left the vicinity of the fort and took up their stand several hundred yards away, behind a small hill, enclosed on two sides by rocks. It is possible they expected the rangers to follow them to this point, but for the time being they were not molested.
The reason for this was easily explained. Both pioneers and rangers were utterly fagged out—the former by their hasty flights from their homes, and the vigilance and fighting at the fort, and the latter because of the forced ride from Winchester, and the first battle in the forest with Indians and French. All needed a rest, and the wounded demanded attention. So for the time being the battle remained a drawn one.
As soon as it was made known that the Indians had retreated, a score of rangers who were unhurt were set to watch their movements, and then began the caring for the wounded. All told, it was found that six men, women and children had been killed outright and that one man was mortally hurt. Of the pioneers five were wounded, and of the rangers three, and of the killed two had been scalped.
"Dave, my son!" exclaimed James Morris, as he rushed up. "Are you safe?"
"Yes, father," was the answer. "And you?"