with a grip of iron.

It was of no use trying to hold back. Omas half running, half
leaping, drove his way like a wedge through the surging swarm.
His left hand closed around the upper arm of Ben, while his right
grasped his tomahawk, he having thrown aside his rifle.

The boy was repeatedly jerked almost off his feet. He could run
fast, but was not equal to this warrior, who forged along with
resistless might. Twice did an Iroquois make for the young prisoner,
as he supposed the lad to be, but a warning motion of the tomahawk
upheld by Omas repelled him.

The Delaware was prudent, and instead of keeping in the midst
of the surging mass, worked to one side, so that they were soon
comparatively free from the tumultuous throng.

There was no attempt at conversation between the Delaware and Ben.
The boy knew what was meant by this rough kindness. The day was
lost, and his thoughts went out to the loved ones waiting down the
valley to learn the result of the battle. He wanted to get to them
as quickly as he could.

The rush carried them beyond the main body of fugitives, though not
out of danger, for the Iroquois were pursuing hard; but soon Omas
loosened his grip and dropped the arm of the lad. They were far
enough removed from the swirl to exchange words.

"Where moder--where Alice?", asked the Delaware, as if he had no
concern for his own child.