“Do we know you?” exclaimed an energetic young man named Reynolds, who undertook to give reply in the name of the garrison; “Yes, we know you, Simon Girty!” and then proceeding in the same strain, he said, that he himself had a good-for-nothing rascally dog, and that for want of a bad name he called him Simon Girty; adding, that if he had artillery coming he might bring it up; that they too expected reinforcements; and that, in short, if Girty and his gang remained four-and-twenty hours longer before the place, their scalps would be soon drying on the roofs of the cabins. Such was the reply to Girty. It was very offensive, but it was irresistible, and the next morning they retired so precipitately that several pieces of meat upon their roasting-sticks were left and their fires still burning. By noon 160 men had assembled at Bryant’s Station, under Colonels Todd, Trigg, Boone, and the celebrated Major M‘Gary. The Kentuckians are remarkable for their impetuosity, which amounts almost to rashness. In the afternoon they were all ready and impatient to set off in pursuit; M’Gary objected to this precipitancy, but was overruled. The party was mostly mounted. At the Lower Blue Licks they came in sight of the enemy, who, having reached the southern bank of the Licking, were then ascending the rocky ridge on the other side. The Indians halted for a moment, turned round and gazed at their pursuers, and then quietly proceeded onward. The Kentuckians halted also, and consulted together what was best to be done. Boone, who understood perfectly the Indian mode of warfare, expressed his belief that an ambush was planted in a ravine about a mile in advance. He advised to wait for Logan, who might be expected soon to join them with reinforcements. Waiting, however, did not suit their ardent temperaments; and M’Gary suddenly raising the war-whoop, spurred his horse into the stream, waving his hat and shouting, “Let all who are not cowards follow me!” and all followed him. As Boone had expected, no sooner had they reached the ravine than they were attacked; a deadly fire poured in upon them; they staggered and fell in every direction, the enemy in the meantime being completely concealed. They fled back to the river; the Indians pursued, and now the slaughter with the tomahawk commenced. The ford was narrow, and great numbers were killed there. It was a scene of horrible confusion—horses plunging, riders falling, others attempting to mount, and amid all, the bloody Indian tomahawk doing its cruel work. One man named Netherfield, who had been laughed at as a coward, and who had never dismounted, was the first to reach the opposite shore. Here, soon joined by some of his comrades, he looked round, and seeing the massacre that was going forward, pulled rein as he exclaimed, “Halt! fire on the Indians! Protect the men in the river!” And on this all wheeled round, fired, and rescued several poor fellows in the stream over whom the tomahawk was lifted.