Yes, the fight was over; but even while I struggled to my feet, trying to regain the breath which had been nearly forced from my body, I realized that although we had come off victorious in this encounter, our peril had been increased tenfold, for the body of the Indian would unquestionably soon be found by his fellows, and then must be known the fact that some of our company were outside the stockade, after which our doom was certain. On the heels of this thought came another, which was, that by killing this villainous Mohawk had we put in greater jeopardy Elias Shendle, for even though Master Bartlett and I succeeded in gaining the stockade, the besiegers would be more keenly on the alert than before, while Elias, believing matters to be as when he left, would find himself confronted by death, when the only mercy he could hope to receive would be that it came speedily, while he was fighting. However, the deed was done, and no good could come of my conjuring up all the possibilities of trouble. We must get into the fort now without delay, or else abandon our efforts to do so, in which case rapid retreat would be necessary. It was not in my mind, however, to leave the vicinity of Fort Jenkins while it was possible to remain, and believing the danger to be less if we made a bold stroke, I said hurriedly to Master Bartlett: “If the Indians nearabout have not already heard the noise of the fight, they will soon come upon this fellow’s body, and then are we lost beyond hope; therefore I propose that you and I take to our heels now, running with all swiftness toward the main entrance, on the chances that the sentinels will see us and open the gate. Of course we stand the risk of being shot down; but that, in my mind, is no less if we stay here trying to get across the cleared space secretly.” “It shall be as you say, lad,” the old man replied, grimly. “I am ready to take my chances of running as fast as you.” Without waiting for further converse, for it seemed to me that even the seconds were precious just then, I started at full speed across the space which had been cleared immediately in front of the main entrance to the stockade, and on seeing Giles March standing sentinel directly over the gate, it seemed as if fortune was smiling on us. Master Bartlett, half-crippled though he was, held even pace with me; but when the race was a little more than two-thirds run, and I saw that the small gate was being opened cautiously, the report of a musket rang out almost at the same instant that I heard a bullet whistle past my ears. Then came another, and another, and in a twinkling it was as if all the thicket surrounding the stockade was alive with the crackling of musketry. Strangely enough, I gave no heed to the possibility of death at that moment when it lurked close behind me, but said to myself, as if it were something in the nature of a jest: