The child's face fell for an instant, then it lighted up with sudden intelligence, he turned quickly and pointed to the East. “It's there. That's Benson,” he said. “It's there true enough, but it's a long way off, a very long way. Benny, Benson's in the State of Ohio; do you think you can remember that?” “Benson's in the State of Ohio,” said Benny dutifully. “That's right, Benson's in the State of Ohio,” Stephen slowly repeated after him. He smiled almost pityingly, his hope hung by such a slender thread; a child's drifting memory. “Yes, sir,” said the boy, “Benson's in the State of Ohio.” “And you are never to part with these papers unless it is to give them to some white man who will send them to the person whose name is written in the packet; and should you ever meet Basil Lan-dray again, you are not to let him know that you have the papers.” Benny looked at him shrewdly. “He won't come around, Mr. Landray. My pop 'lows he'll fix him if he ever shows his head in this camp.” The papers were in a buckskin bag that closed with a stout drawstring. “You can wear it around your neck, Benny—so,” said Stephen. “Keep it under your blouse, like this—it will be safe there. It's a very important matter, Benny, and you are such a little fellow for so big a trust.” Here he was interrupted by the discharge of a gun, and within the barricade Rogers sprang to his feet. Almost simultaneously with his warning cry, the dark slopes of the hill were lighted up with spurts of flame from the belching muzzles of fifty rifles. It had all been so sudden and unexpected that for a moment Stephen was stunned and stupefied; then he gave a swift glance about him, and felt rather than saw that a score or more of dark forms were stealing up the slope of the hill. He heard Rogers storming and cursing as he bade his startled companions rouse and arm themselves. He gathered up the child in his arms and darted toward the wagons: there he met Rogers. “Is this the way you keep watch?” the Californian shouted fiercely. “You've thrown our lives away!” 0135 Between the wagons where Stephen entered the enclosure, ten or a dozen dark forms now appeared. He put down the child bidding him run and hide himself in a safe spot, and sprang to Roger's aid where he stood beating back the enemy with the stock of his clubbed gun. It was only for an instant, however, that they faced these odds alone; for Bushrod, Walsh, and Bingham rushed to their assistance, and there succeeded a wild moment; the mingled sound of blows and oaths, and then the attack having failed, the dark forms melted silently away in the grey light. “Who's hurt?” Rogers inquired eagerly. “I guess I'm not, for one,” said Bushrod. “How about you, Steve, and you, Walsh, are your skins whole yet?” “Yes, but good God, where is Bingham! What's become of him?” cried Stephen.