Thence it would be an easy ride to Salem where I would find Colonel Andrew Lewis, commander of the county militia. I hoped he would provide a messenger for forwarding my despatches to Governor Dunmore in Williamsburg. I had no desire to visit the seat of government, nor was my disinclination due to the bustle and confusion of its more than a thousand inhabitants. A mile from where the Indians had camped I came upon two white men. They were at one side of the trace and curiously busy among some rocks at the top of a fifty-foot cliff. They were hauling a rope from a deep crack or crevice in the rocks and were making hard work of it. We discovered each other at the same moment, and they called on me to lend them a hand. Leaving my horse in the trace, I hastened over the rough ground to learn what they wanted. As I drew nearer I recognized them as Jacob Scott and William Hacker, confirmed "Injun-haters." "How d'ye do, Morris," greeted Hacker. "Catch hold here and help haul him up." "Who is it?" I asked, seizing the rope which was composed of leather belts and spancel-ropes. "Lige Runner," grunted Hacker, digging in his heels and pulling in the rope hand over hand. Runner, as I have said, was another implacable foe of all red men. "All together!" panted Scott. My contribution of muscle soon brought Runner's head into view. We held the rope taut while he dragged himself on to the ledge. "Did you git it?" eagerly demanded Hacker. The triumphant grin was surety for his success down the crevice. He rose and tapped a fresh scalp dangling at his belt. "I got it," he grimly replied. "Had to follow him most to the bottom where his carcass was wedged between the rocks. Morning, Morris. Traveling far? Seen any Injun-signs on the way?" I shook my head, preferring they should not learn about the three Indians making for Howard's Creek. "What does all this mean, Runner? Do scalps grow at the bottom of holes?" "This one seemed to," he answered with a deep chuckle. "Didn't git a fair crack at him, as he was running mighty cute. Rifle held fire the nick of a second too long. I knew he was mortal hit, but he managed to reach this hole. Then the skunk jumped in a-purpose to make us all this bother to git his scalp." "Who was he?" "Don't know. He was a good hundred and fifty yards away and going like a streak when I plugged him. It's too dark down in the hole to see anything." "For all you know he was a friendly." "We never see no friendlies," Hacker grimly reminded. "'Cept when they're dead," ironically added Scott. "Our eyesight's terribly poor when they're alive." "I call it dirty business. I wouldn't have hauled on the rope if I had known." Runner lowered at me and growled: "You're too finicky. A' Injun is a' Injun. Sooner they're all dead, the better. I kill 'em quicker'n I would a rattlesnake. A rattler gives notice when he's going to strike." "If you've killed a friendly this work will cause much suffering among the outlying cabins."