Fortune favored the settlers. When the Shawnees were but comparatively a few yards distant, the clouds cleared from the face of the moon, and as the moonlight streamed down once more, the gleaming, expectant, upturned faces of the Indians could be seen. All understood that this was the moment to fire, and simultaneously nearly a hundred rifles in the different block-houses broke upon the air. As many infuriated yells broke forth, and seemingly from the very ground, scores of savages sprang to their feet and rushed toward the pickets. Here the cool and steady conduct of the settlers availed them. It was impossible to scale the guard, or either to burn or batter it down, except by vigorous, prolonged labor. The Indians set desperately at work, not heeding the murderous fire which was poured upon them. But it soon told too fearfully, for every shot was well aimed; and when a hunter’s rifle belched its contents a Shawnee was sure to bite the dust. The block-houses were unrelentless in their fire, and continued to pour their shots in upon the dark, dancing bodies without, who still kept madly at work, howling and yelling like so many demons. And all this time numbers kept pouring from the woods, until there were several hundred assaulting the settlement. The attack was made from all sides, at the same moment and by equally formidable numbers, so that each block-house had its due share of work. To add to the confusion, the horses and cattle within the enclosure became panic-struck, and their affrighted snorts and bellowing could be heard among the din of conflict. The discharge of the rifles was so continued and regular that it sounded like the firing of a well-drilled army—platoon at a time; and though it could not help telling fearfully upon the Shawnees, it seemed in reality to have no effect. “Fire quicker, boys, and with a sure aim,” commanded Edwards, in a low tone. “The pickets will be down, if they keep on in that way.” “Well, here’s a try,” said a man beside him, as he placed his rifle through a loop-hole. “I wonder what execution this bullet will do?” As he fired it, Edwards heard a groan, and turning hastily around, saw the man was dying. An Indian bullet had entered the orifice directly beside the muzzle of his rifle, and flashing along the barrel, had struck him in the face, shattering his forehead and killing him almost instantly. “Take him out of the way; there’s no help for him,” commanded Edwards. Moffat and Captain Parks (who was also a leader upon this occasion,) seized the poor fellow and quickly drew him outside the block-house. “Umph! his shot had a different effect from what he thought,” remarked the captain, as he deposited him on the ground and hastened within again.