The Eastern Shore

Ben raised his gun, took quick aim and pulled the trigger, but no
report followed. He had forgotten his weapon was unloaded.

Other forms obtruded between him and the couple, and he could not
see the result of the pursuit and attack. Despite all he could do,
he was forced back by the panic stricken rush around and against
him.

Suddenly a wild cry reached him. An Iroquois with painted face
rushed upon him with uplifted tomahawk, but he was yet several paces
away, when another warrior seized his arm and wrenched him to one
side.

"Run--go fast--don't stay!" commanded the Indian that had
saved the youth, furiously motioning to him.

"If my gun were loaded," replied Ben, though his voice was unheard
in the din, "I wouldn't go till I did something more. Helloa! is
that you, Omas?"

It was the Delaware that had turned the assault aside.

A couple of bounds placed him beside he lad, and he caught his arm
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.