The Indian that Bub had seen was Long Hair. While he was cautiously reconnoitring, the command under Captain Manly had reached the ground. The soldiers found the outer door securely fastened, and, though they thundered for admittance, there was no response from within. In their impatience, some broke down the door, while others scaled the walls. Captain Manly was the first to enter, and the soldiers pushed in eagerly after him, anxious to rescue the settlers, if any were there still. Instantly his eye caught the figure stretched on the bed. "Hush, boys," said he, reverently; "the little fellow is dead." Tears filled the eyes of the men as they gathered about their officer, and gazed silently upon the features of the boy. A placid look was upon the brave lad's countenance; his curly-brown hair lay in dank masses, in fine contrast to his white forehead; while the lessons of self-control, which he had been taught, made his expression mature and noble. Captain Manly stooped and kissed the cold forehead, and the soldiers instinctively lifted their caps. Meanwhile, the cabin had been carefully searched. "There's not a soul in it," said Sergeant Eaton, touching his cap. "The little lad yonder seems to have been all alone." "Impossible. What did that firing mean from the cabin, just as we rode up? And here, you see, are no less than a dozen rifles, all nicely mounted. Where are the fingers that pulled the triggers? Sergeant, there is some mystery here that needs to be unravelled. Have you searched the cellar?" "We have, sir," was the reply. The officers stood looking at each other perplexed, and were continuing their conversation in a low tone, when Long Hair entered, and without noticing any one, stood, with folded arms, gazing at Charlie. "Long Hair," said the captain, turning abruptly towards him, "how long did you get here before we did?" "Little time--not much." "Were you on the ground when we heard the discharge?" "In tree; just here; over dere." "Did any one leave the cabin after the guns were fired?" "No leave cabin," he answered. "Who do you think fired the guns, Long Hair?" "Charlie fire gun." "But Charlie is dead; and the discharge was only a few moments ago." "No; Indian no sense; Charlie no fire gun. Bub fire gun." "Impossible," returned the captain, impatiently. "How could such a child do it?" "What string for, cap'n?" asked Long Hair, pointing to the twine that hung from the gun triggers, which, being so near the color of the walls, had been detected only by the Indian's keen glance. This ingenious arrangement was examined with interest; and the conviction was fast gaining ground, that Long Hair was not far from right in his conclusions.