A situation even more poignant ensues. There is a ripple of shots--then a pause. _Kate Kennion_ steals from the shadow of the stockade: she has heard the parley,--she knows her danger: on her knees she begs her loving father, brave, noble old man, when the last terrible storm of attack shall come, when there is no other alternative, that he will, with his own hand, shoot her dead. This the agonized father promises to do. Then, suddenly through the heavy silence, bursts the infernal din of the Indian war-cries--the increasing crackle of rifle shots--the devoted garrison answering, while ammunition lasts, shot for shot--and then the poor old father takes his daughter in his arms, kisses her farewell, causes her to kneel, bids her pray to God, and as, clasping his hand in both hers, she sinks upon her knees and begins the Lord’s Prayer, he slowly draws his revolver: “Our Father which art in heaven,” the poor child’s lips murmur--and in the breathing pause is heard the single sharp click of the pistol-hammer being raised--“hallowed be thy name: thy kingdom come”--and slowly the weapon begins to turn toward her--“thy will be done on earth”--and the barrel almost touches her temple--“as it is in heaven”--“WAIT!“--and frantically she thrusts the pistol from her: the father believes she is unnerved--wrenches his weapon free--is about to do his deed of dreadful mercy--his child seizes the pistol barrel--“WAIT--WAIT!” she cries--and, faint, far-off, yet clear, unmistakable, thrilling, what she has heard before is now heard by the audience--the cavalry-bugle blowing “Charge!” Then follows the rapidly increasing beat of horses’ hoofs--the crackle of rifle fire, fiercer and fiercer--the wild cries of the savages--the increasing tumult of galloping steeds as, struck behind, they break and fly, and the successful _Hawksworth_ and the relieving reinforcements sweep up, driving the enemy before them to save the garrison and “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”