"Have they fled?" asked Mansfield, in astonishment.
"Not one is left—all are killed or fled! Any of us slain?"
"Yes; I heard some one groan when we started."
The whites turned back to the logs where they had first sheltered themselves; here they found two of their number dead, both having received a bullet through the brain, while several others had been given severe cuts.
A moment after, a dozen more men arrived from the block-house. They had heard the firing in the wood, and had been instantly dispatched by the commander; but their help was not needed, as not a foe was left, so signal had been the repulse. But, for the timely warning of the Frontier Angel, a most fearful massacre must have taken place. Several of the settlers picked up the two dead men and carried them to the settlement, as the commander had instructed them to return the minute they could. Mansfield, Peterson, Dingle, and Jenkins (the latter having come with the reinforcement) remained behind. Four Shawnees lay doubled up in death, while a fifth was rolling, and clutching, and flinging the leaves in his agony. Shortly, to the relief of all, death put him out of his misery.
"Who was killed?" asked Peterson.
"Smith and Thompson," replied Mansfield.
"Both single men; it is good for them that they have no women or children to mourn 'em. We've straightened out five of them, besides hacking a few more. By gracious, isn't that McGable h'yer? Ef I didn't hit him, then I'll never shoot agin," asked Peterson.
"He appears to have escaped. What is to be done with these dead Indians?"
"Why, leave 'em h'yer for the varmint, after we raises thar ha'r."