Every one of the five felt an immense exhilaration as they drove the Indians back into the town.  They were not cruel.  They did not wish to exult over a defeated enemy, but they had witnessed the terrible suffering of the border, and they knew from the testimony of their own eyes what awful cruelties a savage enemy in triumph could inflict.  Now Clark and the Kentuckians had struck directly at the heart of the Indian power in the West.  Chillicothe was destroyed and Piqua was taken.  The arms and ammunition sent to them by the power, seated in Canada, had not availed them.

Henry did not know until much later that it was the cunning and crafty Girty who had given up first.  He had suddenly announced to those near him that Piqua could not be defended against the American army.  Then he had precipitately retreated to the other side of the town followed by Braxton Wyatt, Blackstaffe and all the renegades.  The Indians were shaken by this retreat because they had great confidence in Girty.  The Delawares gave up, then the Ottawas and Illinois, the Wyandots, Shawnees, Miamis and the little detachment of Mohawks, as usual, stood to the bitter last.  At the very edge of the village the great war chiefs, Yellow Panther, the Miami, and Red Eagle, the Shawnee, fell almost side by side, and went to the happy hunting grounds together.  Moluntha, the other famous Shawnee chief, received two wounds, but lived to secure a momentary revenge at the great Indian victory of the Blue Licks, two years later.  Timmendiquas would have died in the defense, but a half dozen of his faithful warriors fairly dragged him beyond the range of the Kentucky rifles.

Yet Timmendiquas, although the Kentuckians were in the town, did not cease to fight.  He and a hundred of the warriors threw themselves into the strongest of the houses, those built of timber, and opened a dangerous fire from doors and windows.  The woodsmen were ordered to charge and to take every house by assault, no matter what the loss, but Clark, always resourceful, sternly ordered a halt.

“You forget our cannon,” he said.  “Logan, do you, Floyd and Harrod keep the riflemen back, and we’ll drive the enemy out of these houses without losing a single man on our side.”

“Thar speaks wisdom,” said Shif’less Sol to the other.  “Now in all the excitement I had clean forgot that we could blow them houses to pieces, but the Colonel didn’t forget it.”

“No, he didn’t,” replied Henry.  “Stand back and we’ll see the fun.  A lot of destruction will be done soon.”

The twilight had not yet come, although the sun was slowly dimming in the East.  A great cloud of smoke from the firing hung over Piqua and the bordering fields that had witnessed so fierce a combat.  The smoke and the burned gunpowder made a bitter odor.  Flashes of firing from the strong houses, and from ambushed Indians here and there pierced the smoke.  Then came a tremendous report and a twelve-pound cannon ball smashed through a wooden house.  Another and another and it was demolished.  The defenders fled for their lives.  Every other house that could be used for shelter was served in the same way.  The last ambushed foe was swept from his covert, and when the twilight fell Piqua, throughout its whole length of three miles along Mad River, was held by the Kentuckians.

The Indian women and children had fled already to the forest, and there they were slowly followed by the warriors, their hearts filled with rage and despair.  Beaten on ground of their own choosing, and not even able to bring away their dead, they saw their power crumbling.  Fierce words passed between Timmendiquas and Simon Girty.  The Wyandot chieftain upbraided the renegade.  He charged him with giving up too soon, but Girty, suave and diplomatic, said, after his first wrath was over, that he had not yielded until it was obvious that they were beaten.  Instead of a fruitless defense it was better to save their warriors for another campaign.  They could yet regain all that they had lost.  There was some truth in Girty’s words.  Blue Lick and St. Clair’s terrible defeat were yet to come, but Clark’s blow had destroyed the very nerve-center of the Indian confederacy.  The Kentuckians had shown that not only could they fight successfully on the defensive, but they could also cross the Ohio and shatter the Indian power on its own chosen ground.  Neither the valor of the warriors, nor the great aid that they received from their white allies could save them from ultimate defeat.

Henry, Paul, the officers, and many others felt these things as the night came down, and as they roamed through Piqua, now deserted by the enemy.  Paul and Jim Hart went in one direction to look at the big Council House, but Henry, the shiftless one, and Tom Ross remained with Colonel Clark.

“We’ve won a great victory, though we’ve lost many good men,” said the Colonel, “and now we must consign Piqua to the fate that Chillicothe has just suffered.  It’s a pity, but if we leave this nest, the hornets will be back in it as soon as we leave it, snug and warm, and with a convenient base for raiding across the Ohio.”

“We’ll have to give it to the flames,” said Colonel Logan.

The other Colonels nodded.  First they gathered up all the dead, whether red or white and buried them.  At Henry’s instance the two old chiefs, Yellow Panther, the Miami, and Red Eagle, the Shawnee, were laid side by side in the same grave.  Then he fixed a board at their head upon which he cut this inscription: 

      In this grave Lie
    Yellow Panther, the Miami,
    And Red Eagle, the Shawnee;
    They were great Chiefs,
    And died fighting
    For Their People.

Not a white man disturbed the epitaph.  But as soon as the last of the fallen were buried, and the soldiers had eaten and refreshed themselves, the torch was set to Piqua, even as it had been set to Chillicothe.  In an hour the town was a huge mass of flames, three miles long, and lighting up the neighboring forest for many miles.  The Indian refugees, thousands of them, from both towns saw it, and they knew to the full how terrible was the blow that had been inflicted upon them.  Timmendiquas sought to rally the warriors for a daring attack upon an enemy who, flushed with victory, might not be very cautious, but they would not make the attempt.  Timmendiquas then saw that it would take time to restore their shaken courage and he desisted.

Henry, Shif’less Sol and Tom Ross watched the fire for a long time, while the soldiers destroyed all the orchards, gardens and crops.  They saw the flames reach their highest until the country around them was as bright as day, and then they saw them sink until nothing was left but darkness made luminous by the coals.  The great village was gone.

“I think we’d better get Paul and Jim and go to sleep,” said Henry.

“So do I,” said Shif’less Sol, and they looked around for the two.  But they were not found easily.

“Ought to have stayed with us,” said Tom Ross.

“An’ they’d have saved a lazy man a lot of trouble, lookin’ through this big place fur ’em,” said Shif’less Sol.

Tom and Jim became still harder to find.  The three hunted everywhere.  They hunted an hour.  They hunted two hours, and there was not a sign of their two comrades.  They asked many about them and nobody could tell a word.  It was nearly midnight when they stopped and looked at one another in dismay.

“They are not in the camp ­that is sure,” said Henry.

“And they’ve got too much sense to go out in the woods,” said Sol.

“Which means that they’ve been took,” said Tom Ross.

Tom’s words carried conviction, sudden and appalling, to all three.  Paul and Jim Hart, going about the burning town, had been seized by some lurking party and carried off, or ­they would not admit to themselves the dreadful alternative ­but they hoped they had been merely taken away, which they deemed likely, as hostages would be of great value to the Indians now.  The three sat down on a log at the northern edge of the town.  They saw little now but the river, and the clouds of smoke rising from it.

“We’ll never desert Paul and Jim,” said Shif’less Sol.  “Now what is the fust thing fur us to do?”

“We’ve got to find this trail, and the trail of those who took them,” replied Henry.  “The army, of course, cannot follow all through the northern woods in order to rescue two persons, and it’s not fitted for such a task anyhow.  We three will do it, won’t we?”

“Ez shore ez the sun rises an’ sets,” said Shif’less Sol.

“I reckon we will,” said Tom Ross.

“And we must start upon the road this minute,” said Henry.  “Come, we’ll see Colonel Clark and tell him that we have to go.”

They found the commander about a mile away, encamped as near the burned town as the heat would allow.  Logan, Floyd, Harrod, Boone, Thomas, and others were with him.  They were talking together earnestly, but when Henry approached and saluted, Colonel Clark greeted him pleasantly.

“Why, it’s young Mr. Ware!” he exclaimed, “the lad to whom we owe so much.  And I see two of your comrades with you.  Where are the other two?”

“That is why we have come, Colonel Clark,” Henry replied.  “We do not know where the other two are, but we fear that they have been taken by the retreating Indians.  The campaign, I suppose, is over.  We wish therefore to resign from the army, follow and rescue our comrades if we can.”

Colonel Clark sprang to his feet.

“Two of your friends taken, and we to desert you after what you have done for us!” he exclaimed.  “That cannot be.  The army must march to their rescue!”

The other officers raised their voices in affirmation.  Henry and his friends bowed.  All three were affected deeply.  But Henry said: 

“Colonel Clark, you can’t know how much we thank you for such an offer, but we three must go alone.  If the army followed into the woods, and pressed the Indians closely, they would put their prisoners to death the very first thing.  They always do it.  In a case like this, only silence and speed can succeed.  We must follow alone.”

Daniel Boone spoke up in his gentle, but singularly impressive tones.

“The boy is right, Colonel Clark,” he said.  “If the job can be done it is these three alone who can do it.”

“I suppose you are right,” said Colonel Clark regretfully, “but it does hurt me to see you leave us, unhelped.  When do you wish to go?”

“Now,” replied Henry.

Colonel Clark held out his hand.  There were actual tears in his eyes.  He shook hands with the three, one by one, and all the others did the same.  Boone and Kenton went with them a little distance into the woods.

“Now, lads,” said Boone, “don’t ever forget to be careful.  You got to get your friends back by stealth and cunnin’.  Keep out of a fight unless the time comes when everything depends on it.  Then if you’ve got to fight, fight with all your might.”

The three thanked him.  Last hand-clasps were given and then Boone and Kenton heard for a brief second or two only faint and dying footfalls in the forest.  They went back quietly to camp ready for the return with the army to Kentucky, but the three were already deep in the forest, and far beyond the area of light.

“I’m thinkin’,” said Sol, “that the Indians hev crossed the river.  It’s likely that they’d want to keep the water between themselves an’ us.”

“Looks like good argument to me,” said Tom Ross.

Henry being of the same opinion, they decided to cross Mad River also, and approach as nearly as they could to the chief body of the Indians.  It was probable that many bands were wandering about and they would be in great danger from them, but it was their business to follow the advice of Daniel Boone and avoid them.  They exercised now their greatest skill and patience.  At a distance of eight or ten miles from Piqua they found two Indian camps, but, after a thorough examination, they became satisfied that Paul and Jim were not in either of them.  Just before daylight they found a valley in which a great mass of warriors, women and children were huddled.  Evidently this was the chief point of retreat, and creeping as near as they could, they saw Timmendiquas, Moluntha, Girty and Braxton Wyatt passing about the camp.

The three lay close in the bushes and they observed Wyatt intently.  Two or three times he passed between them and a camp fire, and they studied his face.

“Doesn’t look like that of one who has lost,” whispered Henry.

“No, it don’t,” said Shif’less Sol.  “O’ course he don’t mourn much about the Indians, an’ I reckon he’s got somethin’ to make him happy.”

“And what he’s got is Paul an’ Jim,” said Tom Ross.

“No doubt you’re right,” said Henry.  “I think it likely that they were trapped by a band under Braxton Wyatt, and that they are his especial prisoners.  Look!  There they are now, by the tree!”

Some shifting of the Indians gave a distant view of the two prisoners bound securely and leaning against a tree.  Wyatt passed by, and looked upon them with an air of possession.  They were sure now that it was he who had taken them, and, drawing further back into the forest, they waited patiently for the next move in the great game of life and death.

Indian scouts several times passed within a few yards of them, but they knew that the minds of these men were upon the army not upon them.  They were scouting to see whether Clark would follow them into the forest and, when they became certain about noon that he would not do so, they gathered their own numbers together and started northward to the villages of their brethren.

Henry, Shif’less Sol and Tom Ross followed closely enough to know what was going on, but not so closely that they would walk into a trap.  Fortunately the country was heavily wooded with evergreen and there was still an abundance of leaves on the trees.  Fortified by such a long experience as theirs it was not difficult to keep under cover, and when the tribes went into camp that night, the three pursuers were not a quarter of a mile away.

The three hung around the camp half the night, but they saw no chance to rescue their comrades.  The crowd about them was too great.  They followed in the same way the next day, and continued thus a week.  Henry began to feel sure now that Paul and Jim were in no immediate danger of death, and he ascribed the fact to the influence of Timmendiquas.  Even if they were Wyatt’s own prisoners, he would not dare to go directly contrary to the wishes of the great Wyandot chieftain.

Now a change occurred, the motive of which baffled the three for a while.  Timmendiquas, Braxton Wyatt, about twenty warriors, and the two prisoners, leaving the main body of the Indians, turned toward the Northwest, following a course which would lead them around the lower curve of Lake Michigan.  The three sitting among the bushes debated it a long time.

“I think,” said Henry, “that Timmendiquas is making a last desperate effort to lead a great force against us.  He is going into the far Northwest to see if he can bring down the Sacs and Foxes, and even the Ojibways, Chippewas, and Sioux to help against us.”

“Then why do they take Paul and Jim along?” asked the shiftless one.

“As trophies to impress the distant Indians or maybe as a sacrifice.  Braxton Wyatt goes, too, because they are his prisoners.”

“It may be so,” said Tom Ross.  “The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right.  Anyhow it’ll give us a better chance to get at Jim and Paul.”

“But we’ve got to play the Injuns’ own game,” said Shif’less Sol.  “We must follow them a long time without lettin’ them know we’re on their track.  Then they’ll begin to go easy and won’t keep much guard.”

Shif’less Sol was undoubtedly right, and for many days they followed this band deep into the Northwestern woods.  August passed, September came.  Whenever the wind blew, the dead leaves fell fast, and there was a crisp touch in the air.  The nights became so cool that they were compelled to sleep between the two blankets that everyone carried at his back.  They were thoroughly convinced now that Timmendiquas was in search of help in the far Northwest, and that Paul and Jim would be offered as trophies or bribes.  Several times the Indians stopped at small villages, and, after a brief and hospitable stay, passed on.  It became evident, too, that neither Timmendiquas nor Wyatt thought any longer of possible pursuit.  Both knew how the five would stand by one another but it had been so long since the battle at Piqua, and they had traveled so many hundreds of miles from the burned town that pursuit now seemed out of the question.  So they traveled at ease, through an extremely fertile and beautiful region, onward and onward until they began to near the shores of the greatest of all lakes, Superior.

The cold in the air increased but the three pursuers did not mind it.  They were inured to every hardship of the wilderness, and the colder it grew the more pleasant was the fresh air to the lungs.  They felt strong enough for any task.  Now that the guard was relaxed somewhat they hoped for a chance to save Paul and Jim, but none came.  Three separate nights they went near enough to see them by the camp fire, but they could not approach any closer.  Henry surmised that they would soon reach a large village of the Chippewas, and then their chances would decrease again.  The attempt must be made soon.

It was now late October and all the forests were dyed the varied and beautiful colors of an American autumn.  The camp of Timmendiquas was pitched on a beautiful stream that ran a few miles further on into an equally beautiful little lake.  Food had become scarce and that morning he had sent most of the warriors on a hunting expedition.  He sat with Braxton Wyatt and only two warriors by the side of the small camp fire.  The two prisoners were there also, their arms bound, but not in a manner to hurt.  Motives of policy had compelled Timmendiquas and Wyatt to be seeming friends, but the heart of the great chief was full of bitterness.  He had not wanted to bring Wyatt with him and yet it had been necessary to do so.  Wyatt had taken the two prisoners who were intended as offerings to the Northwestern tribes, and, under tribal law, they belonged to him, until they were willingly given to others.  His presence would also convince the Ojibways, Chippewas and others that white men, too, were on their side.  Yet nothing could make Timmendiquas like Wyatt.  It seemed unnatural to him for a man to fight against his own race, and he knew the young renegade to be treacherous and cruel.

They were sitting in silence.  Wyatt spoke once or twice to Timmendiquas, but the chieftain made no reply.  Timmendiquas stared into the fire, and planned how he would bring down the Northwestern tribes.  The two warriors were as still as statues.  Paul and Long Jim were leaning against the fallen tree, and Braxton Wyatt’s eyes wandered over them.  He sneered at Paul, but the boy took no notice.  Wyatt had often tried to annoy the two prisoners on the march, but he was afraid to go very far because of Timmendiquas.  Yet he remembered with great satisfaction how he had trapped them that night after the battle of Piqua, when they wandered too near the edge of the forest.

His eyes passed from them, wandering around the circle, and came back to them again.  Did he see Long Jim start?  Did he see a flash of intelligence appear in the eyes of the hunter?  Could he have heard something?  He looked again.  Long Jim Hart’s face expressed nothing.  Braxton Wyatt felt that he was growing nervous, and the next instant he sprang to his feet with a shout of alarm.  Three figures sprang from the undergrowth and, with leveled weapons, commanded the four unbound men who sat by the fire to throw up their hands.  Up went the hands of the four, and Timmendiquas smiled sadly.

“Your patience has been greater than ours,” he said, “and the reward that you are about to take belongs to you.”

“We could fire upon you, Timmendiquas,” said Henry, “and for the moment the advantage is ours, but even if we should win the victory, in the end some of us would fall.  Those who are bound, and for whom we have come, would surely be slain.  Then, I say to you, mighty chief, give us our friends, promise that you will forbid pursuit, and we go.”

Timmendiquas stood up and his face bore a singular look of dignity and kindness.

“You speak fairly,” he said, “and I wish, Ware, that we could be friends in peace.  Cut the bonds of the prisoners.”

He spoke to the two warriors, but at that moment some demon leaped up in the soul of Braxton Wyatt.  “I will do it,” he said.  But his rage and disappointment were so great that they nearly blinded him.  He snatched out his knife and rushed at Paul Cotter, but the blade was turned toward the bound boy’s throat, and not toward the thongs.

Henry uttered a cry and sprang forward, but the great war tomahawk of Timmendiquas left his hand, and flew through the air so swiftly that the eye saw only a flash.  The glittering edge struck the head of Braxton Wyatt, and he fell, cloven to the chin.  He was dead before he touched the ground.

“We keep faith,” said Timmendiquas.

The five bade the great Wyandot chieftain farewell and ten minutes later were on their return journey.  They knew that they were safe from any pursuit by the band of Timmendiquas.  They returned to Wareville and they fought always with distinction throughout the border wars.  They were at the Blue Licks that dreadful day when Timmendiquas and Moluntha, Caldwell and Girty, who finally came, with the Wyandots and Shawnees destroyed more than half of the Kentucky force.  Strangely enough they went with Clark from the mouth of the Licking just two years after the first expedition, again with a thousand riflemen against Piqua which had been rebuilt, and they destroyed it, as before, in revenge for Blue Licks.

Years later they were in the terrible slaughter of St. Clair’s army, and they were with Wayne when he inflicted the crushing and final defeat upon the allied tribes at the Fallen Timbers.  After the peace all the five, every one of whom lived to a very great age, became the fast friends of Timmendiquas, famous war chief of the Wyandots, the nation that knew no fear.