I soon had the poles slightly separated in two places. As I finished a dozen flying brands poured down on the Granville cabin and ours. One arrow lodged on our roof close to the eves. Two were burning on the ridgepole of the Granville cabin. The others either stuck harmlessly in the logs or overshot and stood so many torches in the ground. By means of the table I scrambled back to the roof and managed to knock the menace to the ground. While I was thus engaged Cousin fired both barrels. "What luck?" I asked as I jumped to the floor. "Just bein' neighborly," he growled as he rapidly loaded. "Shot them two arrers off the next roof." Suddenly the savage howling ceased; nor were there any more fire-arrows. Then the Englishman began shouting. He was once more calling us. I answered and wriggled the knife-blade between the logs. Sure of my attention he loudly informed us: "Dale passes the word for us to stop fighting. Says he's going to save us." "To the devil with Dale!" snarled Cousin, showing his teeth like a wolf. "He's going out to talk with 'em," added the Englishman. "Lord! What a fool!" lamented Cousin. "He's going now," continued the Englishman. I darted to Cousin's side and peered out. We heard the bar drop from the end cabin; then Dale came into view, walking with a swagger toward the concealed savages. In one hand he held up a string of white wampum. And as he slowly advanced he shouted in the Shawnee language: "Do my brothers fire on their brother? Do they harm their brother's friends? Does the Pack-Horse-Man ask his red brothers to be kind only to have his words fall on dead ears? I bring you belts. My daughter in the cabin also brings belts to the Shawnees and Mingos and the Delawares." "Let our white brother come close," called a deep guttural voice. "That'll be Black Hoof himself," excitedly muttered Cousin, darting his gaze over the valley in search of the stone or log which hid the great chief from view. "Don't shoot! They'll butcher him if you do!" I warned. "They'll worse'n butcher him if I don't," gritted Cousin. Yet he held his fire, for the excellent reason he could see nothing to shoot at. "Tell your people not to fire," again called Black Hoof's powerful voice. Dale faced the cabins and waved his white wampum, crying: "I am saving your lives. You men in the lower cabin, throw down your arms!" "Like thunder!" grunted Cousin. "He's fairly among them!" I gasped. Dale had come to a stop and was turning his head and glancing from one point to another on the ground as he talked. His voice had its old confident ring, and there was a slight smile on his lips as he rehearsed his friendship for the red people and reminded them how often he visited their villages and smoked their pipes. When he ceased Black Hoof called out: "We will lift a peace-pipe to our good friend, the Pack-Horse-Man. We will cover his friends with the smoke. Let him tell his friends not to be afraid and to throw down their guns."