When Kate Bradford heard of this, her naturally pleasant countenance assumed an expression stern almost to fierceness. “I called them _savages_” she said, “when they scalped some of their victims; but I did injustice to the savages; for, in their worst cruelties, _they_ always respected the modesty of women.” From that time, she practiced with rifle and pistol, and became expert in using them. A similar spirit was roused in several of the women, who agreed to act under her command, if the emergencies of the time required it. Circumstances had goaded her to this. Her nature was kindly as ever, and she prayed fervently to God that no blood might ever rest upon her hands. All along, she had been sustained by the belief that aid would come to Kansas. She had such pride in American institutions, she _could_ not believe that the government of her country was in league with such abominations and outrages, until the return of messenger after messenger sent to Washington, made the damning proof too strong to be resisted. Then her old love of New England increased a hundred-fold; for all her hopes centred _there_. The Pilgrims that came over in the May Flower, the men and women of ’76, had always been the heroes of her imagination; and the crisis, in which she now found _herself_ living and acting, rendered _their_ crown of glory more luminous in her memory. “Massachusetts will help us,” she was wont to say, with somewhat of filial pride in the confident tones of her voice. “_Massachusetts_ will not look on with indifference, while her emigrant children are driven into a pen-fold to be slaughtered like sheep, by those whom long habits of slaveholding have made familiar with every form of violence and wrong.” Drearily, drearily, the weeks passed away. Men and women were limping about, with feet that had been frozen during the winter’s severest cold. Many had no guns to shoot game, to protect them from the wolves, or from enemies far worse than wolves. Their ammunition had been stolen from them, provisions were intercepted on the way, and every breeze brought rumours that the ruffians were making ready to “wipe out Lawrence.” Newspapers from the North, and letters from friends, were long delayed, and often destroyed on the way. The haggard settlers looked at each other with forlorn helplessness. They had reached the extremest point of desolation. Still John and Katie said, “Massachusetts will help us. _Depend_ upon it, Massachusetts will not desert her children in their utmost need.” And other brave hearts responded to the cheering words, saying, “Ohio will help us.” “Connecticut will not forget us.” “Illinois will come to the rescue.”