"I _shall_ go. We're wasting time. But first I'll have to take off some of these clothes." So she dropped her skirt and stood in her short petticoat. "There!" And she fastened her hair tighter in a coil. Her friend Molly Scott sprang forward. "Betty! Let me go instead! I'm not afraid. Please!" "No. You can go next time, Molly. I'm the older." Accounts state that Molly Scott did make such a trip, either first or last. Lydia, the daughter of Captain Boggs, was in the fort, and says that she helped pour the powder into Molly Scott's apron. Whether Molly and Betty both served in this siege, or served separately in two sieges, is still a question. At any rate, the deed was done, and well done. "All right, Betty. God bless you for a brave lass. You're a true Zane," Colonel Zane uttered chokingly. "Have them pour a keg of powder into this tablecloth. We'll signal them you're coming. We'll do our best to cover you. No red devil shall get near you. Tell the fort we've got to have powder, or my house will fall and the fort'll be hard pressed from the new vantage." Betty nodded. Her eyes were snapping, her cheeks were red. The cabin was protected in front and on the flanks by a little stockade. Her brother himself opened the gate, in the side, for her. With a bound she was out, her slim ankles twinkling as she ran. The Indians stared, puzzled. They laughed and jeered. "Ho! Squaw! Heap run! Squaw heap run!" And Betty darted in through the gateway of the fort. Five minutes passed, while the cabin garrison waited nervously. Here she came, out again, the table-cloth tied around her waist and baggy with the precious powder. The enemy guessed. They laughed no longer--they opened fire, the fort and cabin replied rapidly. Betty! Betty! Was she down? Had she been hit? No; not yet. Open the gate! The gate! Let her in--keep those Injuns off! Here she was, plunging breathless, panting, laughing, into the extended arms. Not a ball had touched her. Now the cabin would hold out. It had to hold out, after a deed like that, by a girl. Shame on it if it yielded! The Indians, urged by the white chiefs and by the British Rangers, raged. Twenty times they reached the stockades with bundles of hemp, and tried to fire the pickets. The hemp was damp and refused to burn. They tried with wood. They did not succeed. Under the hail of bullets a portion of the rotted pickets gave way, in a corner; but by great good fortune several peach-trees there concealed the hole. All this day the hot attacks continued. They lessened only slightly during the night. Toward morning a figure was espied craftily slinking for the fort's sally gate. A rifle bullet stopped it. There were groans and pleadings for water; a weak voice kept asking to be taken in. Two of the men bolted out, grabbed the figure and hustled him inside. He was a negro--claimed that he had just deserted from the Indians.