Hardy goes on a lone scout--He encounters a mysterious stranger--And recognizes an enemy--“If you make a sound or signal, you are a dead man”--The ride to the fort and the warning--Hardy reconnoitres the Indian camp--And makes a long ride to bring aid to Bryan’s Station--Girty and his Indians invest the stockade--They plan a stratagem and are caught in their own trap--They attack in force and are repulsed--Relief from Lexington--Girty tries to cajole the garrison--The defenders disregard his threats and promises--“You see this cur? He’s called Simon Girty. We couldn’t think of a better name for him”--The Indians depart as suddenly as they came. Kenton and Hardy, who for months had been engaged making reconnoissances, accompanying expeditions, and guiding settlers, separated early in August, leaving Boonesborough in different directions. Kenton proposed to range through the country northward to the Ohio, whilst Hardy should strike west until reaching Lexington and Bryan’s, and should scout thence to the river, somewhere upon the southern bank of which the comrades expected to encounter each other in the course of a few weeks. They moved lightly, carrying nothing but their arms and ammunition and a little parched corn in their wallets. On the morning of the third day after parting with Kenton, Hardy was passing along the timber-covered ridge that formed the eastern boundary of the valley in which lay Bryan’s Station. The surrounding open country had been a favorite resort of buffalo, elk, and other large game, when the first settlers arrived, but these animals were fast disappearing. As the scout’s eyes swept the beautiful panorama that lay spread before them, not a living object presented itself to his observant gaze. Presently the scout’s ear caught the soft pad of hoofs upon the grassy slope and he turned to see a horseman coming towards him at a lope. As he came nearer, a white man was revealed, mounted upon an unusually fine animal. On reaching the spot where Hardy stood he drew rein and sprang to the ground. “Hallo, young man! Can you tell me where I am?” cried the stranger. “You are about three miles from Bryan’s. Where did you want to be?” replied Hardy, a little nettled by something in the other’s manner. “That’s all right! I am on my way to Bryan’s. Know, the country hereabouts?” Hardy admitted that he was tolerably well acquainted with it and, in response to the stranger’s gestured invitation, sat down on one end of a fallen tree. The stranger took a seat at the other, with the horse’s bridle over his arm. “My name’s Beatty. I’m from Pennsylvania. Came in with a train, but they’re about ten miles behind. We think of settling hereabouts.”