fort would add to the panic, and be almost certain to bring about
a conflict with some of the whites. It was his province to guard
the precious canoe from being taken by other fugitives.

Ben Ripley now thought only of his loved ones. He knew the anguish
his mother would suffer until she learned he was safe, and he forced
his way to the spot where he had parted from her.

It was a sad experience. Old men, women and children, with white
faces, were rushing to and fro, wringing their hands and wailing,
searching for those whom they never again would see in this life;
crowding into the little fort, as if they knew a minute's delay
would be fatal; some making for the river, into which they plunged
in a wild effort to reach the eastern shore, while among the frantic
masses appeared here and there a fugitive from the scene of battle,
perhaps wounded and telling his dreadful story of the defeat, with
all the woeful consequences that were certain to follow.

With much difficulty and some rough work the lad reached the spot
where he had bidden his mother and the children goodbye, but none
of the three was in sight. They had been swept aside by the rush
of the terrified people.

A cry sounded above the tumult, and before he could learn where it
came from, the arms of his mother were about his neck.

"Thank Heaven! my boy is safe! You do not know what I have suffered.
I could learn nothing about you. Are you hurt?"

"Not a scratch--which is more than many other poor fellows can