logs, many bullet holes, fire-charred timbers, and dark stains,
terribly suggestive of the pain and heroism which the defense of that
rude structure had cost.

Under Helen's eager questioning Colonel Zane yielded to his weakness
for story-telling, and recited the history of the last siege of Fort
Henry; how the renegade Girty swooped down upon the settlement with
hundreds of Indians and British soldiers; how for three days of
whistling bullets, flaming arrows, screeching demons, fire, smoke, and
attack following attack, the brave defenders stood at their posts,
there to die before yielding.

"Grand!" breathed Helen, and her eyes glowed. "It was then Betty Zane
ran with the powder? Oh! I've heard the story."

"Let my sister tell you of that," said the colonel, smiling.

"You! Was it you?" And Helen's eyes glowed brighter with the light of
youth's glory in great deeds.

"My sister has been wedded and widowed since then," said Colonel Zane,
reading in Helen's earnest scrutiny of his sister's calm, sad face a
wonder if this quiet woman could be the fearless and famed
Elizabeth Zane.

Impulsively Helen's hand closed softly over her companion's. Out of
the girlish sympathetic action a warm friendship was born.

"I imagine things do happen here," said Mr. Sheppard, hoping to hear
more from Colonel Zane.