My mount responded eagerly, for he sensed the danger. And it was wonderful to observe how Cousin kept up, with one hand on my stirrup, the other holding the rifle. We were well beyond the brook where I shot my Shawnee, and within half a mile or less of the Grisdol cabin, when our flight was interrupted for a few moments by the behavior of my horse. It was just as we turned from the main trace to strike into the path leading to the cabin that the animal bolted sidewise, crowding Cousin deep into the bushes. I reined in and stared down on a terrible sight--that of the four Grisdols. They lay in the path, head to head, in the form of a cross. I felt my stirrup shake as Cousin's hand rested on it. He gave a little gasping sob and whispered: "How near to the cabin now?" "Less than half a mile," I told him as I soothed my horse and permitted him to pick his way around the dead. Once more we were off, but now Cousin ran behind, for the way was winding and narrow, and at places the overhanging boughs tried to brush me from the saddle. There was no need of glancing back to make sure my companion was keeping up, for his impatient voice repeatedly urged me to make greater speed. "If the cabin ain't standin' we've got to have 'nough of a lead to let us lose 'em in the woods," he reminded. The path completed a detour of some tangled blackberry bushes and ended in a natural opening, well grassed. "There it is! The roof is partly burned!" I encouraged. "The walls stand. The door's in place. Faster!" Across the opening we raced. From the woods behind arose a ferocious yelling. The Shawnee were confident they had driven us into a trap. We flashed by two dead cows and some butchered hogs, and as yet I had not seen an Indian except the one masked in a bear's pelt. The cabin roof was burned through at the front end. The door was partly open and uninjured. It was simple reasoning to reconstruct the tragedy even while we hastened to shelter. The family had offered resistance, but had been thrown into a panic at the first danger from fire. Then it was quickly over. Doubtless there had been something of a parley with the usual promise of life if they came out. The fire crackled overhead, the victims opened the door. Cousin said they had been conducted to the main trace before being slaughtered. As I leaped from my horse a fringe of savages broke from cover and began shooting. Cousin dropped the foremost of them. I led the horse inside the cabin and my companion closed and barred the door. The interior of the place mutely related the tragic story. It is the homely background of a crime that accents the terrible. On the table was the breakfast of the family, scarcely touched. They had been surprised when just about to eat. An overturned stool told how one of the men had leaped to bar the door at the first alarm. I spied through a peephole but could see nothing of our foes. A low cry from Cousin alarmed me. He was overcome at the sight of a small apron.