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A piercing shriek, which met the ear of Dudley upon
his entrance, announced some new calamity. A little boy,
scarce two years old, had been lost in the confusion of the
flight, and its mother, borne along by her impetuous companions,
had been unable to make her vociferations understood,
until they reached the fort. Upbraiding herself,
upbraiding her friends, and vainly struggling to escape
from their grasp and fly back to the rescue, the frantic parent
rent every heart with her cries. The moonlight still
remaining unobscured, the infant, on examination, was distinctly
seen, about twelve rods distant, seated quietly upon
the grass, and playing with the flowers, unconscious of
danger. The discovery was made none too soon. An Indian,
prone upon the ground, now lying motionless like a
log, and now approaching the child with a slow and catlike
gait, was at the same instant discovered, while the
whole band at a safe distance were silently watching his
hazardous attempt. A dozen rifles were at once levelled
at the miscreant, when Dudley interposed—

“For shame!” he said, “will you let one worthless dog
draw your whole fire, and ensure the capture of the child,
while you are reloading? The game is Lee's by discovery.
Rogers will stand ready to fire next, if necessary; and if
both fail, leave the scoundrel to me.”

Uncle Lee, as he was familiarly called, smiled as he raised
his unerring gun, and its quick report was accompanied by

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a yell that seemed to proclaim the success of the shot.
The Indian started from his recumbent position, and then
fell heavily backward.

“If he were a Christian now, one might suppose him
dead,” exclaimed Rogers, who had watched the effect of
Lee's shot with a look of chagrin; “but I have my doubts,
Captain,” he said, addressing Dudley, and raising his gun,
beseechingly, “that fall was a little too theatrical.”

“Don't you go to shooting dead men, Mr. Rogers,” exclaimed
Lee—“I tell you I've killed him.”

Dudley, whose suspicions from the first had been the
same as those of Rogers, made a signal to the latter to fire,
which he had no sooner done than the dead man rose to
his feet, with a screech that could not be misunderstood;
then sinking gradually to his knee, he fell shivering to the
ground, with indubitable signs of death.

Rogers smiled grimly as he retorted upon his companion—

“'Tisn't much to kill an Indian, Mr. Lee; it's the bringing
him to life again that shows the skill.”

If any doubt had been entertained of the fatality of the
last fire, the yell of wrath which arose from the Indians
and the volley which was discharged at the hapless infant
would have effectually dispelled them. But the distance
which the cowardly assailants were compelled to keep, and
the minuteness of the mark, fortunately rendered their fire
innocuous. It was evident, however, that the child in so
exposed a situation could not long escape.

“It is a shame,” exclaimed Dudley, “that a helpless
babe should perish and twelve strong men look idly on. I
myself will save him.”

Thus saying, he threw down his gun, that nothing might
retard his speed, and prepared to rush out. But the firm
grasp of Lee was on his shoulder.

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“'Tis certain death,” said the old man; “you will be a
mark for thirty rifles.”

“And if it were thirty thousand, I would go,” retorted
Dudley, impetuously, and tearing himself away.

But at this moment a singular apparition entered the
room, which, whether or not it was anything more than a
huge tin Dutch oven, surmounted by an inverted pail of
the same material, was certainly nothing less. It required
a little investigation to perceive signs of a human being under
this extraordinary coat of mail, but in a moment more
a familiar voice proceeding from beneath the kettle proclaimed
a well-known slave of Lee's, by the name of Nando.
Merely announcing his object, the faithful negro darted out
of the house, and, presenting his shielded side to the enemy,
ran hastily toward the child. There was one moment of
fearful suspense, a yell, a volley, and a responsive shout
of derision from the slave. At the next, Nando bent over
the wondering child, thrust him hastily within his capacious
shield, and, rushing rapidly back, reached the house in
safety. The cordial greetings, the welcoming grasp, the
wet eyes, and the warm outpourings of a mother's gratitude
that here encountered him, astounded and bewildered the
heroic African, while the marred and battered utensil told
eloquently the tale of his danger and his daring.

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