When the soldier recovered his senses, it was to wonder again at the change that had come over the scene. The loud yells, the bitter taunts, the mocking laughs, were heard no more; and nothing broke the silence of the wilderness save the stir of the leaf in the breeze, and the ripple of the river against its pebbly banks below. He glanced a moment from the bush in which he was lying, in search of the barbarians who had lately covered the slope of the hill, but all had vanished; captor and captive had alike fled; and the sparrow twittering among the stunted bushes, and the grasshopper singing in the grass, were the only living objects to be seen. The thong was still upon his wrists, and as he felt it rankling in his flesh, he almost believed that his savage captors, with a refinement in cruelty the more remarkable as it must have robbed them of the sight of his dying agonies, had left him thus bound and wounded, to perish miserably in the wilderness alone.

This suspicion was, however, soon driven from his mind; for making an effort to rise to his feet, he found himself suddenly withheld by a powerful grasp, while a guttural voice muttered in his ear from behind, with accents half angry, half exultant, “Long-knife no move; see how Piankeshaw kill Long-knife’s brudders! Piankeshaw great fighting-man!” He turned his face with difficulty, and saw, crouching among the leaves behind him, a grim old warrior plentifully bedaubed over head and breast with the scarlet clay of his native Wabash, his dark shining eyes bent now upon his rifle which he held extended over Roland’s body, now turned upon Roland himself, whom he seemed to watch over with a miser’s, or a wild-cat’s, affection, and now wandering away up the stony path along the hill-side, as if in expectation of the coming of an object dearer even than rifle or captive to his imagination.

In the confused and distracted state of his mind, Roland was as little able to understand the expressions of the warrior as to account for the disappearance of his murderous associates; and he would have marvelled for what purpose he was thus concealed, among the bushes with his grim companion, had not his whole soul been too busily and painfully occupied with the thoughts of his vanished Edith. He strove to ask the wild barbarian of her fate, but the latter motioned him fiercely to keep silence; and the motion and the savage look that accompanied it being disregarded, the Indian drew a long knife from his belt, and pressing the point on Roland’s throat, muttered too sternly and emphatically to be misconceived, “Long-knife speak, Long-knife die! Piankeshaw fight Long-knife’s brudders Piankeshaw great fighting-man!” from which all that Roland could understand was that there was mischief of some kind still in the wind, and that he was commanded to preserve silence on the peril of his life. What that mischief could be he was unable to divine; but he was not kept long in ignorance.

As he lay upon the ground, his cheek pillowed upon it stone which accident, or perhaps the humanity of the old warrior, had placed under his head, he could distinguish a hollow, pattering, distant sound, in which, at first mistaken for the murmuring of the river over some rocky ledge, and then for the clatter of wild beasts approaching over the rocky hill, his practised ear soon detected the trampling of a body of horse, evidently winding their way along the stony road which had conducted him to captivity, and from which he was but a few paces removed. His heart thrilled within him. Was it, could it be, a band of gallant Kentuckians, in pursuit of the bold marauders, whose presence in the neighbourhood of the settlements had been already made known? or could they be (the thrill of expectation grew to transport, as he thought it) his fellow emigrants, summoned by the faithful Nathan to his assistance, and now straining every nerve to overtake the savages, whom they had tracked from the deserted ruin? He could now account for the disappearance of his captors, and the deathlike silence that surrounded him. Too vigilant to be taken at unawares, and perhaps long since apprised of the coming of the band, the Indians had resumed their hiding-places in the grass and among the bushes, preparing for the new-comers an ambuscade similar to that they had so successfully practised against Roland’s unfortunate party. “Let them hide as they will, detestable miscreants,” he uttered to himself with feelings of vindictive triumph; “they will not, this time, have frightened women and a handful of dispirited fugitives to deal with.”

With these feelings burning in his bosom, he made an effort to turn his face towards the top of the hill, that he might catch the first sight of the friendly band, and glut his eyes with the view of the anticipated speedy discomfiture and destruction of his enemies. In this effort he received unexpected aid from the old warrior, who, perceiving his intention, pulled him round with his own hands, telling him, with the grim complacency of one who desired a witness to his bravery, “Now, you hold still, you see, you see Piankeshaw old Injun, you see Piankeshaw kill man, take scalp, kill all Long-knife: debbil great fighting-man, old Piankeshaw!” which self-admiring assurance, repeated for the third time, the warrior pronounced with extreme earnestness and emphasis.

It was now that Roland could distinctly perceive the nature of the ground on which his captors had formed their ambush. The hill along whose side the bison path went winding down to the river with an easy descent, was nearly bare of trees, its barren soil affording nourishment only for a coarse grass, enamelled with asters and other brilliant flowers, and for a few stunted cedar-bushes, scattered here and there; while, in many places, the naked rock, broken into ledges and gullies, the beds of occasional brooks, was seen gleaming gray and desolate in the sunshine. Its surface being thus broken, was unfit for the operations of cavalry; and the savages being posted, as Roland judged from the position of the old Piankeshaw, midway along the descent, where were but few trees of sufficient magnitude to serve as a cover to assailants, while they themselves were concealed behind rocks and bushes, there was little doubt they could inflict loss upon an advancing body of footmen of equal numbers, and perhaps repel them altogether. But, Roland, now impressed with the belief that the approaching horsemen, whose trampling grew heavier each moment, as if they were advancing at a full trot, composed the flower of his own band, had but little fear of the result of a contest. He did not doubt they would outnumber the savages, who, he thought, could not muster more than fifteen or sixteen guns; and coming from a Station, which he had been taught to believe was of no mean strength it was more than probable their numbers had been reinforced by a detachment from its garrison.

Such were his thoughts, such were his hopes, as the party drew yet nigher, the sound of their hoofs clattering at last on the ridge of the hill; but his disappointment may be imagined, when, as they burst at last on his sight, emerging from the woods above, the gallant party dwindled suddenly into a troop of young men, only eleven in number, who rattled along the path in greater haste than order, as if dreaming of anything in the world but the proximity of an enemy. The leader he recognised at a glance by his tall figure, as Tom Bruce the younger, whose feats of Regulation the previous day had produced a strong though indirect influence on his own fortunes; and the ten lusty youths who followed his heels, he doubted not, made up the limbs and body of that inquisitorial court which, under him as its head, had dispensed so liberal an allowance of border law to honest Ralph Stackpole. That they were now travelling on duty of a similar kind, he was strongly inclined to believe; but the appearance of their horses, covered with foam, as if they had ridden far and fast, their rifles held in readiness in both hands, as if in momentary expectation of being called on to use them, with an occasional gesture from their youthful leader, who seemed to encourage them to greater speed, convinced him they were bent upon more serious business, perhaps in pursuit of the Indians, with whose marauding visitation some accident had made them acquainted.

The smallness of the force, and its almost entire incompetence to yield him any relief, filled the soldier’s breast with despair; but, hopeless as he was, he could not see the gallant young men rushing blindly among the savages, each of whose rifles was already selecting its victim, without making an effort to apprize them of their danger. Forgetting, therefore, his own situation, or generously disregarding it, he summoned all his strength, and, as they began to descend the hill, shouted aloud, “Beware the ambush! Halt” But before the words were all uttered, he was grasped by the throat with strangling violence, and the old warrior, whose left hand thus choked his utterance, drew his knife a second time, with the other, and seemed for an instant as if he would have plunged it into the soldier’s bosom.

But the cry had not been made in vain, and although, from the distance, the words had not been distinguished by the young Kentuckians, enough was heard to convince them the enemy was nigh at hand. They came to an immediate halt, and Roland, whose throat was still held by the warrior and his bosom threatened by the vengeful knife, but whose eyes neither the anguish of suffocation nor the fear of instant death could draw from the little band, saw them leap from their horses, which were given in charge of one of the number, who immediately retired beyond the brow of the hill; while Tom Bruce, a worthy scion of a warlike stock, brandishing his rifle in one hand, and with the other pointing his nine remaining followers down the road, cried, in tones so manly that they came to Roland’s ear, “Now, boys, the women’s down thar, and the red skins with them! Show fight, for the honour of Kentuck and the love of woman. Every man to his bush, and every bullet to its Injun! Bring the brutes out of their cover!”

This speech, short and homely as it was, was answered by a loud shout from the nine young men, who began to divide, with the intention of obeying its simple final instructions; when the Indians, seeing the design, unwilling to forego the advantage of the first open shot and perhaps hoping by a weak fire to mask their strength, and decoy the young Kentuckians into closer quarters, let fly a volley of six or seven guns from the bushes near to where Roland lay, but without doing much mischief, or even deceiving the young men, as was expected.

“Thar they go, the brutes!” roared Tom Bruce, adding as he sprang with his followers among the bushes, “show ’em your noses, and keep a good squint over your elbows.”

“Long-knife big fool, Piankeshaw eat him up!” cried, the old warrior, now releasing the soldier’s throat from durance, but speaking with tones of ire and indignation: “shall see how great Injun fighting-man eat up white man!”

With these words, leaving Roland to endure his bonds, and solace himself as he might, he crept away into the long grass, and was soon entirely lost to sight.

The combat that now ensued was one so different in most of its characteristics from all that Roland had ever before witnessed, that he watched its progress, notwithstanding the tortures of his bonds and the fever of his mind, with an interest even apart from that which he necessarily felt in it, as one whose all of happiness or misery depended upon the issue. In all conflicts in which he had been engaged, the adverse ranks were arrayed face to face, looking upon each other as they fought; but here no man saw his enemy, both parties concealing themselves so effectually in the grass and among the rocks and shrubs, that there was nothing to indicate even their existence, save the occasional discharge of a rifle, and the wreath of white smoke curling up from it into the air. In the battles of regular soldiers, too, men fought in masses, the chief strength of either party arising from the support which individuals thus gave to one another, each deriving additional courage and confidence from the presence of his fellows. Here, on the contrary, it seemed the first object of each individual, whether American or Indian, to separate himself as far from his friends as possible, seeking his own enemies, trusting to his own resources, carrying on the war on his own foundation, in short, like the enthusiastic Jerseyman, who, without belonging to either side, was found at the battle of Monmouth, peppering away from a fence, at whatever he fancied a foeman “fighting on his own hook” entirely.

It did not seem to Roland as if a battle fought upon such principles, could result in any great injury to either party. But he forget, or rather he was ignorant, that the separation of the combatants, while effecting the best protection not merely to any one individual, but to all his comrades, who must have been endangered, if near him; by every bullet aimed at himself, did not imply either fear or hesitation on his part, whose object, next to that mentioned, was to avoid the shots of the many, while seeking out and approaching a single antagonist, whom he was ever ready singly to encounter.

And thus it happened, that, while Roland deemed the antagonists were manoeuvring over the hill side, dragging themselves from bush to bush and rock to rock, to no profitable purpose, they were actually creeping nigher and nigher to each other every moment, the savages crawling onwards with the exultation of men who felt their superior strength, and the Kentuckians advancing with equal alacrity, as if ignorant of, or bravely indifferent to their inferiority.

It was not a long time, indeed, before the Virginian began to have a better opinion of the intentions of the respective parties; for, by and by, the shots, which were at first fired very irregularly and at long intervals, became more frequent, and, as it seemed, more serious, and an occasional whoop from an Indian, or a wild shout from a Kentuckian, showed that the excitement of actual conflict was beginning to be felt on either side. At the same time, he became sensible, from the direction of the firing, that both parties had gradually extended themselves in a line, reaching, notwithstanding the smallness of their numbers, from the crest of the hill on the one hand, to the borders of the river on the other, and thus perceived that the gallant Regulators, however ignorant of the science of war, and borne by impetuous tempers into a contest with a more numerous foe, were not in the mood to be taken either on the flank or rear, but were resolved, in true military style, to keep their antagonists before them.

In this manner, the conflict continued for many minutes, the combatants approaching nearer and nearer, the excitement waxing fiercer every instant, until shots were incessantly exchanged, and, as it seemed, with occasional effect; for the yells, which grew louder and more frequent on both sides, were sometimes mingled with cries of pain on the one hand, and shouts of triumph on the other; during all which time, nothing whatever was seen of the combatants, at least by Roland, whose mental agonies were not a little increased by his being a compelled spectator, if such he could be called, of a battle in which he was so deeply interested, without possessing the power to mingle in it, or strike a single blow on his own behalf. His fears of the event had been, from the first, much stronger than his hopes. Aware of the greatly superior strength of the savages, he did not doubt that the moment would come when he should see them rush in a body upon the Kentuckians, and overwhelm them with numbers. But that was a measure into which nothing but an uncommon pitch of fury could have driven the barbarians: for with marksmen like those opposed to them, who needed but a glance of an enemy to insure his instant destruction, the first spring from the grass would have been the signal of death to all who attempted it, leaving the survivors, no longer superior in numbers, to decide the contest with men who were, individually, in courage, strength, and skill, at least their equals. Indeed, a proof of the extreme folly of such a course on the part of the Indians was soon shown when the Regulators, fighting their way onwards as if wholly regardless of the superior numbers of the foe, had advanced so nigh the latter as to command (which from occupying the highest ground, they were better able to do) the hiding-places of some of their opponents. Three young warriors, yielding to their fury, ashamed perhaps of being thus bearded by a weaker foe, or inflamed with the hope of securing a scalp of one young Kentuckian who had crept dangerously nigh, suddenly sprung from their lairs, and guided by the smoke of the rifle which he had just discharged, rushed towards the spot, yelling with vindictive exultation. They were the first combatants Roland had yet seen actually engaged in the conflict; and he noted their appearance and act of daring with a sinking heart, as the prelude to a charge from the whole body of Indians upon the devoted Kentuckians. But scarce were their brown bodies seen to rise from the grass, before three rifles were fired from as many points on the hill-side, following each other in such rapid succession that the ear could scarce distinguish the different explosions, each of them telling with fatal effect upon the rash warriors, two of whom fell dead on the spot, while the third and foremost, uttering a faint whoop of defiance and making an effort to throw the hatchet he held in his hand, suddenly staggered and fell in like manner to the earth.

Loud and bold was the shout of the Kentuckians at this happy stroke of success, and laughs of scorn were mingled with their warlike hurrahs, as they prepared to improve the advantage so fortunately gained. Loudest of all in both laugh and hurrah was the young Tom Bruce, whose voice was heard, scarce sixty yards off, roaring, “Hurrah for old Kentuck! Try ’em agin, boys, give it to ’em handsome once more! and then, boys, a rush for the women!”

The sound of a friendly voice at so short a distance fired Roland’s heart with hope, and he shouted aloud himself, no Indian seeming nigh, for assistance. But his voice was lost in a tempest of yells, the utterance of grief and fury, with which the fall of their three companions had filled the breasts of the savages. The effect of this fatal loss, stirring up their passions to a sudden frenzy, was to goad them into the very step which they had hitherto so wisely avoided. All sprang from the ground as with one consent, and regardless of the exposure and danger, dashed, with hideous shouts, against the Kentuckians. But the volley with which they were received, each Kentuckian selecting his man, and firing with unerring and merciless aim, damped their short-lived ardour; and quickly dropping again among the grass and bushes, they were fain to continue the combat as they had begun it, in a way which, if it produced less injury to their antagonists, was conducive of greater safety to themselves.

The firing was now hot and incessant on both sides, but particularly on the part of the Regulators, who, inspired by success, but still prudently avoiding all unnecessary exposure of their persons, pressed their enemies with a spirit from which Roland now for the first time drew the happiest auguries. Their stirring hurrahs bespoke a confidence in the result of the fray, infinitely cheering to his spirits; and he forgot his tortures, which from the many frantic struggles he had made to force the thong from his wrists, drawing it at each still further into his flesh, were now almost insupportable, when, amid the din of firing and yelling, he heard Tom Bruce cry aloud to his companions, “Now, boys! one more crack, and then for rifle-butt, knife, and hatchet!” It seemed, indeed, as if the heavy losses the Indians had sustained, had turned the scale of battle entirely in favour of the Kentuckians. It was evident even to Roland, that the former, although yelling and shouting with as much apparent vigour as ever, were gradually giving ground before the latter, and retreating towards their former lairs; while he could as clearly perceive, from Bruce’s expressions, that the intrepid Kentuckian was actually preparing to execute the very measure that had caused such loss to his enemies, and which, being thus resolved on, showed his confidence of victory. “Ready, boys!” he heard him shout again, and even nigher than before; “take the shoot with full pieces, and let the skirmudgeons have it handsome!”

At that conjuncture, and just when Forrester caught his breath with intense and devouring expectation, an incident occurred which entirely changed the face of affairs, and snatched the victory from the hands of the Kentuckians. The gallant Bruce, thus calling upon his followers to prepare for the charge, had scarce uttered the words recorded, before a voice, lustier even than his own, bellowed from a bush immediately on his rear, “Take it like a butcher’s bull-dog, tooth and nail! knife and skull-splitter, foot and finger, give it to ’em every way, cock-a-doodle-doo!”

At these words, coming from a quarter and from an ally entirely unexpected, young Bruce looked behind him and beheld, emerging from a hazel bush, through which it had just forced its way, the visage of Roaring Ralph Stackpole, its natural ugliness greatly increased by countless scratches and spots of blood, the result of his leap down the ledge of rocks, when first set upon by the Indians, and his eyes squinting daggers and ratsbane, especially while he was giving utterance to that gallinaceous slogan with which he was wont to express his appetite for conflict, and with which he now concluded his unceremonious salutation.

The voice and visage were alike familiar to Bruce’s senses, and neither was so well fitted to excite alarm as merriment. But, on the present occasion, they produced an effect upon the young Regulator’s spirits, and through them upon his actions, the most unfortunate in the world; to understand which it must be recollected that the worthy Kentuckian had, twenty-four hours before, with his own hands, assisted in gibbeting honest Ralph on the beech tree, where, he had every reason to suppose, his lifeless body was hanging at that very moment. His astonishment and horror may therefore be conceived, when, turning in some purturbation at the well known voice, he beheld that identical body, the corse of the executed horse-thief, crawling after him in the grass, “winking, and blinking, and squinting,” as he was used afterwards to say, “as if the devil had him by the pastern.” It was a spectacle which the nerves of even Tom Bruce could not stand; it did what armed Indians could not do, it frightened him out of his propriety. Forgetting his situation, his comrades, the savages, forgetting everything but the fact of his having administered the last correction of Lynch-law to the object of his terror, he sprang on his feet, and roaring, “By the etarnal devil, here’s Ralph Stackpole!” he took to his heels, running, in his confusion, right in the direction of the enemy, among whom he would have presently found himself, but for a shot, by which, before he had run six yards, the unfortunate youth was struck to the earth.

The exclamation, and the sight of Ralph himself, who also rose to follow the young leader upon what he deemed a rush against the foe, electrified the whole body of the Regulators, who were immediately thrown into confusion; of which the savages took the same advantage they had taken of Bruce’s agitation, firing upon them as they rose, and then rushing upon them to end the fray, before they could recover their wits or spirits. It needed but this, and the fall of their leader, to render the disorder of the young men irretrievable; and, accordingly, in less than a moment they were seen, all, at least, who were not already disabled, flying in a panic from the field of battle. It was in vain that the captain of horse-thieves, divining at last the cause of their extraordinary flight, roared out that he was a living man, with nothing of a ghost about him whatever; the panic was universal and irremediable, and nothing remained for him to do but to save his own life as quickly as possible.

“’Tarnal death to me!” he bellowed, turning to fly; but a groan from Bruce fell on his ear. He ran to the side of the fallen youth, and catching him by the hand, exclaimed, “Now for the best leg, Tom, and a rush up hill to the bosses!”

“You ar’n’t hanged then, after all?” muttered the junior; and then fell back as if unable to rise, adding faintly, “Go; rat it, I’m done for. As for the ’l savages, what I have to say ’l ’l . But I reckon scalping’s not much; ’l ’l one soon gets used to it!”

And thus the young Kentuckian, his blood oozing-fast, his mind wandering, his utterance failing, muttered, resigning himself to his fate, ignorant that even Stackpole was no longer at his side to hear him. His fate did indeed seem to be inevitable; for while Stackpole had him by the hand, vainly tugging to get him on his feet, three different Indians were seen running with might and main to quench the last spark of his existence, and to finish Stackpole at the same time. But in that very emergency, the ill-luck which seemed to pursue the horse-thief, and all with whom he was associated, found a change; and destiny sent them doth assistance in a way and by means as unexpected as they were unhoped for. The approach of the savages was noticed by Roaring Ralph, who, not knowing how to save his young executioner, against whom he seemed to entertain no feelings of anger whatever, and whose approaching fate he appeared well disposed to revenge beforehand, clapped his rifle to his shoulder, to make sure of one of the number; when his eye was attracted by the spectacle of a horse rushing up the stony road, neighing furiously, and scattering the Indians from before him. It was the charger Briareus, who had broken from the tree where he had been fastened below, and now came dashing up the hill, distracted with terror, or perhaps burning to mingle in the battle, which he had heard and snuffed from afar. He galloped by the three Indians, who leaped aside in alarm, while Stackpole, taking advantage of the moment, ran up and seized him by the bridle. In another moment, he had assisted the fainting Kentuckian upon the animal’s back, leaped up behind him, and was dashing with wild speed up the hill, yelling with triumph, and laughing to scorn the bullets that were shot vainly after.

All this the unhappy Roland beheld, and with a revulsion of feelings, that can only be imagined. He saw, without, indeed, entirely comprehending the cause, the sudden confusion and final flight of the little band, at the moment of anticipated victory. He saw them flying wildly up the hill, in irretrievable rout, followed by the whooping victors, who, with the fugitives, soon vanished entirely from view, leaving the field of battle to the dead and to the thrice miserable captives.