the last two hours. It are possible, of course, that they're there,
but I reckon not. I expect they've been waiting, ever since they gave
up the attack, in hopes that the young uns would come back; but now,
as they see that we're keeping up a fire to tell them as how they're
still round us, they've given it up and gone. When it gets dark
to-night I'll go out and scout round."

At ten o'clock at night Pearson dropped lightly from the stockade on
the side opposite to the gate, as he knew that, if the Indians were
there, this would be the point that they would be watching; then,
crawling upon his stomach, he made his way slowly down to the lake.
Entering the water and stooping low, he waded along the edge of the
bushes for a distance of a mile; then he left the water and struck
into the forest. Every few minutes he could hear the discharge of the
rifles at the house; but, as before, no answering shots were heard.
Treading very cautiously, he made a wide _detour_ and then came down
again on the clearing at the end furthest from the lake, where the
Indians had been last seen moving about. All was still. Keeping among
the trees and moving with great caution, he made his way, for a
considerable distance, along the edge of the clearing; then he
dropped on his hands and knees and entered the cornfield, and for two
hours he crawled about, quartering the ground like a dog in search of
game. Everywhere he found lines where the Indians had crawled along
to the edge nearest to the house, but nowhere did he discover a sign
of life. Then, still taking great care, he moved down toward the
house and made a circuit of it a short distance outside the stockade;
then he rose to his feet.

"Yer may stop shooting," he shouted. "The pesky rascals are gone."
Then he walked openly up to the gate; it was opened at once by