During the early pioneer days of Ohio, there lived on the Ohio river, not far from Cincinnati, a family named Johnson.

The two sons, John and Henry, aged respectively thirteen and eleven years, were one day seated on an old log some distance from the house. Presently they saw two men coming toward them, whom they supposed to be white men from the nearest settlement. To the great dismay of the boys, they discovered when too late for escape, that two Indians were beside them.

They were made prisoners and taken about four miles into the deep forests, when, after eating some roasted meat and parched corn, given them by their captors, they arranged for the night, by being placed between the two Indians and each encircled in the arms of the one next him.

Henry, the younger, had grieved much at the idea of being carried off by the Indians. John had in vain tried to comfort him with the hope that they should escape and return to their parents; but he refused to be comforted. The ugly red man, with his tomahawk and scalping-knife, which had often been called in to quiet his cries in infancy, was now actually before him; and every scene of torture and cruelty of which early settlers knew so much, rose up to terrify his mind.

But when the fire was kindled in the forest, that night, the supper prepared and offered to him, all idea of his future fate was forgotten, and Henry soon sank to peaceful sleep, though he was enclosed in the arms of a red savage.

It was different with John. He felt the reality of their situation; he was alive to the fears which he knew would possess his dear mother when night came and her boys did not return. His thoughts of how to restore his brother and himself to their friends drove sleep from his eyes.

Finding all others locked in deep repose, he gently slipped from the arms of his captor and walked to the fire. To test the soundness of their sleep, he rekindled the dying fire and moved freely about it. All remained sound asleep—now was the time to escape. He gently awoke Henry and told him to get up; he obeyed and both stood by the fire.

"I think," said John, "we had better go home now."

"Oh!" replied Henry, "they will follow and catch us."

"Never fear that," replied John, "we'll kill them before we go."

The idea was for some time opposed by Henry, but when he beheld the savages so soundly asleep, and listened to his brother's plan of executing his wish, he finally consented to act the part prescribed him.

The only gun which the Indians had was resting against a tree, at the foot of which lay their tomahawks. John placed it on a log, with the muzzle near to the head of one of the savages, and, leaving Henry with his finger on the trigger, ready to pull on the signal being given, he repaired to his own station. Holding in his hand one of their tomahawks, he stood astride of the other Indian, and, as he raised his arm to deal death to the sleeping savage, Henry fired, and, shooting off the lower part of the Indian's jaw, called to his brother, "Lay on; for I've done for this one," seized up the gun and ran off. The first blow of the tomahawk took effect on the back of the neck and was not fatal. The Indian attempted to spring up, but John repeated his strokes with such force and so quickly that he soon brought him again to the ground, and leaving him dead proceeded on after his brother.

They presently came to a path which they recollected to have traveled the preceding evening, and, keeping along it, arrived at the station awhile before day. The inhabitants were, however, all up, and in much uneasiness for the fate of the boys; and when they came near, and heard a well-known voice exclaim, in accents of deep distress, "Poor little fellows! they are either killed or taken prisoners," John called aloud, "No, mother, we are here again."

When the tale of their captivity and the means by which they escaped, were told, they did not receive full belief, upon which John said, "You had better go and see." "But can you again find the spot?" said one; "Yes," he said, "I hung my cap up at the place where we turned into the path." So, with a number of men, John led the way, and when they came to the fire they found the Indian who had been tomahawked, dead, while they tracked the one who had been shot, by his blood, until they found him, not quite dead yet, but so weak that he would die, so they left him.