The exclamation came from Ned Preston, who was at the elbow of Jo Stinger. Every one who was looking out in the darkness saw that he spoke the appalling truth.
The building nearest them had a door and window on the first floor, and two windows above, all facing the block-house. It was in the lower story that Waughtauk and his most trusted warriors had been grouped for hours, after having decided what should be the line of action toward the besieged settlers.
From the window on the lower floor suddenly issued a tongue of flame, which darted out and back with great rapidity. Then the whole interior became one vivid red glow, fire was seen shooting in every direction, and volumes of smoke began pouring from the upper windows.
The torch was applied, and the last, final test of the block-house had come.
The garrison were awed spectators of the scene. All understood what it meant, and there was no call for words; but as the southern side of the block-house, as well as the roof, were to be exposed to a furnace-like heat, the water was gathered in vessels, where it could be used the instant needed.
The Wyandots had hurried out of the building before the flames were fairly going, so as not to expose themselves to the rifles of the Kentuckians; but as the flames spread and the circle of illumination widened, the dusky foes were seen skulking behind the other cabin, along the stockade, and in the clearing, watching the destruction, and the massive block-house, whose heavy logs, steep overhanging roof, rude chimney and rugged outlines loomed up in the crimson glow against the background of blank darkness.
There was not a snowflake in the air, but the spotless white on the ground showed in many places where the mantle had been disturbed by the moccasins of the Wyandots.
The glare seemed to reach the clouds, and the myriads of sparks which went drifting to the northward, and falling over an area of many acres, brought out the gaunt, skeleton-like figures of the trees, which seemed to look solemnly forth from the dim woods, where the white and red men only met in scenes of violence and blood.
The garrison allowed themselves to be restrained by no sentimentality, for it was an hour when every shot counted. The glow of the ascending flames continually flung back the sheltering mantle of night enveloping the figures of the warriors, who were not always quick to remember the danger to which they were thus exposed.
But when four or five well-aimed rifles were fired from the loopholes, that were lit up with an illumination greater than that of the noonday sun, the survivors made haste to run back into the gloom, or to throw themselves behind some shelter.