into full relief so that she might watch it undetected by any one entering.
With creeping horror, as she watched, she saw the door begin to swing open to the night, saw then a stealthy hand slide across it to steady it so that it would not creak. There was a pause. Nothing moved. Only Charity had the feeling that just without that door was someone, something, watching and waiting!
Suddenly Amos snored. Charity had an hysterical desire to laugh, but fought the inclination, and conquering it, lay in deathly quiet for an interminable period.
At last, just as she thought she must move, must get relief from the strain of not moving, without a sound, an Indian in full war paint stepped into view!
As he stood absolutely immobile, the girl had time to stare at him. Just so, she thought shudderingly to her self, must the painted warriors have looked who had come to set fire to the frontier cabins her mother had told her of. Just as helpless, just as much at their mercy, were they at the mercy of this Indian, she and Mehitable and her father and mother. For now she knew that Mehitable, too, was asleep, worn out by excitement, and that only she, alone, was awake to realize the horror and the utter helplessness of their position.
As the Indian continued to stand there, continued to peer into the firelit cabin interior, the girl's heart beat against her breast. His eyes, terrible beneath the war paint, moved past Mistress Condit's bunk, dropped lightly to study the two men sleeping before the fire, glanced at Squire Condit's unconscious figure
