Philip Markley was a man of fifty winters; and, though time showed its marks upon his brow, he was still hale and vigorous. Hester Markley, the mother, was a whole-souled Christian, a good wife, and an exemplary parent. Around her household no shadow ever was allowed to fall, which a cheerful face or pleasant words could drive away. Alfred, the younger of the brothers, was now twenty-two years of age—frank, handsome, and manly; possessing a great deal of fire and energy, though well tempered with discretion. He was somewhat taller than Charles, erect and finely-formed, with an eye like that of an eagle, and a strong arm to execute the promptings of his brave heart. Philip and his younger son sat beside the wide chimney, sending huge clouds of tobacco-smoke up the dark passage. After the pipes were exhausted, each sat for some time in silence; then the father rose, and took his rifle from the peg upon which it hung. “Upon my word!” he exclaimed, ruefully, as he turned the weapon in his hand, “I had no idea my poor gun was so badly neglected. I haven’t burned a charge of powder in it since last fall. I don’t take the pleasure with a rifle that I used to. Game is plenty enough, but my eyes are not as clear, or my hand as steady as it once was.” Lifting down the small box which contained the many belongings to the weapon, he set himself to the work of rejuvenating its appearance. Alfred now watched the movements of his father for a short time, then arose, and taking his own piece, proceeded to a minute inspection of condition. “What is the matter?” laughed Charles, laying down the well-known volume which had been engrossing his attention. “One would think you expected an attack from Indians. But, I may as well join the circle.” Reaching for his own rifle, the young man set about the task. With rifle-cleaning, bullet-molding, and conversation, the evening passed quickly away. Then arms and ammunition all in order—though little dreaming of the fearful use for which it would be required—the family at length retired. Profound slumber was upon the inmates of the cabin, and their pleasant breathing fell in regular cadence upon the still night air. No thought of danger was there to disturb the quiet serenity. Midnight was at hand—all was hushed. Suddenly there sounded without a springing footstep, and a heavy blow upon the door, repeated, as if given by the stock of a rifle. The four sleepers heard the noise, but could not readily determine from whence it sprung. Again came the summons, and, as the sound died away, a strong voice called aloud for the sleepers to awake. In a moment the four persons were astir, and hastily preparing themselves for any emergency. Again the same summons, calling upon them to hasten, as they valued life. “Coming—wait a moment,” exclaimed the father, half impatiently, half wonderingly. “Hurry—hurry! minutes are years, now,” responded the voice. “If ye care for yer scalps, be speedy.”