"What does that mean?" exclaimed Thomas Bickford, who from his home had heard the crack of a gun far up the river on that early morning of July 18th. Instantly he recalled the stealthy Indians that the boys had seen the previous day, and he sensed immediate danger. "Quick!" he called to his wife and boys. "Run to the boat! I believe the Indians are afoot!" Hurrying into their clothes, they rushed to the river and jumped into the boat. Bickford passed them the oars. "Down the stream," he pointed, "and get around the bend as soon as you can! The savages are up the river!" "You are not coming?" they asked in alarm as he remained on shore. "No, that house is not to be lost, if I can save it!" There was no time for argument. He pushed the boat into the stream and darted back to the house, bolting the gates of the palisade and then the door as he entered. He grabbed his gun and placed his bullets and powder-horn in readiness. He then dashed upstairs quickly returning with an armful of clothing, which he spread out upon chairs and tables. At that moment the shots of the Indians struck the house. A horrible fear for the safety of his family brought a shudder to Thomas Bickford, yet, though alone in the house, he bravely began its defense. "Steady there, shoot!" he shouted as if he had a house full of men to command. He then pulled on an old red soldier's coat and flashed past the window in view of the Indians peering through the chinks outside the palisade. With another loud command and a remark in a different tone of voice, Bickford tore off the coat, pulled on a fur hat, and came again to view at the window. This he continued to do with frequent changes of costume and constant shooting and shouting until the Indians lost courage and fled for safety fearing an armed band would soon rush out upon them. Their flight brought but a moment of relief. The house, perhaps, was safe, but what of the family? Not until late in the day did Thomas Bickford dare start forth in search of them. He crept along the shore in the dusk, fearing each moment the shot of some lurking Indian. On and on he went, yet he found no trace of his people. At last he came upon the hollow oak that the boys had described as their playhouse. Here he paused, for a sound came from within. "Can that be a hiding place of the savages?" he asked himself in alarm and quickly turned his course. Suddenly there came from the oak a stifled whisper, "Father!" The family had but just escaped the sight of the Indians that morning, and here in the hollow tree they had crouched in fear all the long day. Now, startled lest the sound they heard outside was the tread of a redman, the boys peeped through a knothole and saw their father. To find each other was joy enough for one moment. The next brought the whisper: "Is the house saved?"