After Elias had departed from view, I wasted no more time in watching the red sneaks who had counted on satisfying their thirst for blood by answering John Butler’s call to what he claimed to be civilized warfare, but began the journey toward our stockade, knowing full well the danger of moving carelessly or rapidly. There was in my mind a determination to do something toward the rescue of that poor girl who was eating her heart out in the lodges of the Indians, if it should be decided by the members of our company that two or three could be spared to accompany me in the venture. I was turning all this over in my mind as I advanced pace by pace, keeping sharp watch for the slightest unusual movement of the foliage ahead of me, and listening intently to every noise, the cause of which I might not be absolutely certain. Perhaps half an hour passed, and already I began to believe it would be possible for us Minute Boys to effect a rescue, when it suddenly became apparent that not very far behind me some person was moving quite as cautiously as myself. As a matter of course it was absolutely essential I should know who this stranger might be, and, halting within a dense clump of cedars, I waited, breathlessly, finding it difficult to repress a cry of astonishment when he finally came into view, peering cautiously around in a manner which told that he understood full well the dangers to be encountered. It was Simon Bartlett, an old man of near seventy, from Wilkesbarre, whom I knew full well as one being nigh crippled with rheumatism, but having a heart so full of courage that in times of stern necessity he could so far defy bodily ailment as to do the work of half a dozen men. As I stepped out in front of him he had his musket to his shoulder in a twinkling, but lowered it quickly, as he asked, in a whisper: “What has happened at Jenkins’s Fort, lad, that you are here?” Before answering him I put the question: “Did you not meet Elias Shendle during this past half-hour?” He shook his head. “The lad left me hardly more than thirty minutes ago, to carry to Forty Fort the information that we at the stockade are the same as besieged. There are an hundred or more Indians close around, and so many Tories at Wintermoot’s that it seems positive we of the valley are marked out as victims.” I believe the information which I gave Master Bartlett was no more alarming than he had anticipated, for instead of making any ado, he said, quietly: “We had come to believe from rumors which lately arrived that mischief was brewing, and in order to know exactly what we might expect, I took upon myself the task of visiting you lads.” “And right glad will the members of the company be to see you, Master Bartlett, for there is none in all the valley who could give so much aid. I believe of a verity the mere fact of your entering the stockade will renew their courage.” “Are they growing timorous, then?” the old man asked.