814 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 
the door with all my excited strength. Though both of us 
were wounded, we succeeded in closing the bolt, while the 
Indians kept firing at the door, in the vain hope of hitting 
us through it. HicKory is a very tough wood, and the closely 
woven withs or poles of which it was composed weré bullet- 
“proof. 
Tt was not, however, proof against hatchets, and instantly 
we heard the blows by which they were cutting their way 
through. We reloaded our weapons in silence. The door 
was fraily hung, and could not stand such a general assault 
more than a few moments—but when we were ready, she 
looked up with a smile that seemed very strange at such a 
time. 
“T prepared for them long ago!” she said, in a low, hissing 
voice—as she punched out a bit of mud from between two of 
the pickets of the house—and then thrust her rifle through 
what I now saw was a shrewdly disguised port-hole, bearing 
directly upon the door. She fired, and a yell of agony from 
the outside followed. As she withdrew her rifle, I also fired 
my pistol through the port-hole into the midst of the flurried 
and astonished group, which had gathered about a fallen 
warrior. Their discomfiture was now complete, and with ges- 
tures of furious menace, I could see they commenced a retreat 
more rapid than the charge had been, and as little expected. . 
The woman, who now appeared to have grown wild with 
rage, quickly sent after their retreat another shot from the 
door-way, which she had impetuously thrown open. She 
screamed her defiance, and shook her clenched hand at them 
like some crazed “‘ Madge Wildfire,” as they disappeared in 
yet greater confusion from her shot, and turning towards me 
with lips blue and compressed—until they were thin as wafers 
across her teeth—muttered faintly— 
“They have slain my husband!” and staggering towards 
the still insensible body—her flashing eyes suddenly grew 
