It was shortly after that a friendly Indian, several of whom had shared the plight of the defenders, uttered an alarm from his place of watching. From the woods on the west of the devastated village came an Indian running fast and straight toward the garrison house. Already a few savages had been seen skulking about the outskirts beyond range of bullet, but this one was not of them. As David, peering forth with the others, beheld and wondered, arrows sped toward the runner from a patch of woods at his right. They missed their mark, and the Indian, swerving, ran toward the granary and, with a marvelous burst of speed, reached it unharmed and placed the building between him and the enemy. As he came again into sight about the nearer corner, David recognized him.
“’Tis Monapikot!” he cried.
“Aye, ’tis the Pegan spy!” called another. “Unbar the door!”
But Monapikot was not yet safe, for a puff of smoke arose behind him and a bullet buried itself in the dirt at his feet. The Indian who had sighted the Pegan from the house grunted, thrust his musket through the firing-hole, and fired. But the distance was
