Lionel Clontarf bound a handkerchief over the prisoner’s eyes, and then, at a signal from Captain Storms, the four men relinquished their hold upon the limb which arose to its natural position, and then Dick Sherwood _hung between heaven and earth_! The wretched man struggled desperately, but his efforts momentarily grew feebler. The settlers stood in speechless silence and gazed upon the hanging form until it had ceased to move. Surely life was extinct. Finally Captain Storms advanced and placed his fingers upon the renegade’s pulse, and said in a low tone: “He’s dead, boys, dead, dead; and may God have mercy upon his soul.” As he uttered the last word a startled exclamation burst from the lips of the crowd. A horseman had burst suddenly from the forest into their midst. It was Rollo, the ranger! His horse was white with foam, and his own face streaked with perspiration and flushed with excitement. “Away, men, away!” the youth shouted, wildly, “away for your homes, your wives and your children! The Indians are upon the post!” “My God!” burst from the lips of Lionel Clontarf; “come, men, follow me! I can already hear the yells of the demons and the clash of arms!” “But the body of Sherwood,” cried one, “what will be--” “Let it hang away!” responded old Captain Storms. Fear seemed to lend the settlers invisible wings as they ran through the woods toward the post, the boy ranger following close at their heels upon his almost exhausted animal. Had the settlers, however, on turning their backs upon the hanging renegade, given the young ranger a second glance, they would have seen something that would have aroused some curiosity, if not suspicions, in their minds. Wild with excitement and fear, however, they ran on, the safety of their families uppermost in their minds. When the river was reached, the settlers hastily embarked for the opposite shore in their canoes, the ranger swimming his animal behind. When they came in sight of the post the men saw that the place was being bravely defended by the few men that had remained behind. The enemy were mounted, and in number did not exceed a dozen. They had divided their force, and the larger party were directing their attack upon the eastern gate of the stockade. Seeing the inferiority in number of the enemy, the settlers gave a yell as they approached, and the next moment the savages were flying over the plain at a breakneck speed, leaving one of their number behind, dead. This bloodless termination--on the part of the settlers--of what promised a bloody affray, resulted in Rollo, the Boy Ranger, being lionized as the real hero of the victory. He was fairly dragged from his pony and forced to accept the warm, heartfelt thanks and blessings bestowed upon him, for his timely warning them of danger. The young ranger seemed ill at ease within the stockade, and contrary to the wishes of the settlers, he soon took his departure.