That was the story in substance, without going into the details, and it showed us that now indeed was the valley lost to us. John Butler had made arrangements for the Tories to remain in undisturbed possession, not only of such property as they then held, but all which had been taken from them shortly after the war began, and Wyoming was become a nest of loyalists who would do all they could to harrow, if not kill, those of us who had held to the American Cause. The question which had come to us now in that cave of refuge, with the telling of Daniel Hinchman’s story, was where we should go? Surely not to our homes, for we had none; not again to the Susquehanna River, for of a verity would we be driven out if allowed to live, and until our wounded had recovered we were the same as prisoners in an underground dwelling, unless we were minded to play the part of savages and leave the helpless ones to their fate. CHAPTER XI. A COMRADE IN DISTRESS Because of the questions regarding the future, which had come into my mind, I gave no heed to the fact that Daniel had not finished his recital, since the story had been concerning our unfortunate friends and neighbors, but never a word as to how he succeeded in returning to us. It was Giles March who noticed the omission, and while my heart was filled with grief because of the fact that we were virtually prisoners in the cave, unable to raise our hands in defence of those who were needing help so sorely, he asked of Daniel: “How is it that you were able to get away? Was your face painted black, and did you carry a white cloth on a stick, in order to show John Butler that you were one of those who pledged obedience to him?” “I was neither painted black, nor did I carry the badge of disgrace,” Daniel replied, curtly. “By moving here and there about the stockade, keeping as close to the ranks of the Tories as possible, I managed to avoid attracting very much attention, and when the surrender was fully effected I stole quietly out, making my way down to the shore. And well it was that I did not linger, for before gaining this side of the river it was possible to see the flames shooting up from those houses which had been left standing near the fort, and I knew that, despite John Butler’s promises, the Indians were continuing their work of destruction.” When Daniel had thus come to an end of his story, we sat silent and motionless, turning over in our minds that which he had told, and questioning whether there was any ray of hope in the future. When perhaps five minutes had passed, I asked, looking at Master Bartlett: “Is it in your mind that we are to stay in the cave until such time as it may be possible for us to go out in perfect safety, or might we try to play the part of men?” “In what way, lad?” the old man asked in perplexity.