Jethro Juggens, the brawny servant of Mr. Altman, the dusky youth with the strength of a Hercules, the intellect of a child, or a skill in the use of the rifle hardly second to that of Kenton and Boone, has a singular but momentous part to play in the incidents that follow. The reader must, therefore, bear with us when now and then we turn aside from the graver and more tragical sweep of incidents to follow the doings and the fortunes and misfortunes of the one who rendered such signal service to his friends, already related in "Shod with Silence."

Simon Kenton denounced himself times without number for bringing Jethro with him when he set out to recover the canoe that had been left at the clearing; and yet that act, ill-advised as it seemed, changed the whole course of events that followed quick and fast, and became the foundation of one of the most remarkable legends connected with the romantic Ohio and the stirring events that marked the history of the settlement of Ohio and Kentucky.

With no thought of the mischief he was likely to cause, Jethro Juggens, as the reader has learned, circled part way round the cabin in the clearing, passed through the door, drew in the latch-string, devoured nearly all of the bread that was left behind, and then lay down and went to sleep.

He had managed to gain so much slumber during the past twenty-four hours that he was in need of nothing of the kind. As a consequence, he remained unconscious less than an hour, when he opened his eyes, as fully awake as he ever was in all his life.

The room was in darkness, and he was so confused that for a brief spell he was at a loss to know where he was. Rising to a sitting position, he rubbed his eyes and stared around in the gloom.

"Am dis de flatboat, and am I in de cellar ob it?" he asked himself.

But a moment's reflection recalled what had taken place.

"Gracious! I wonder if anyting hab happened to Mr. Kenton?" he exclaimed, starting to his feet and stumbling headlong over one of the boxes, unnoticed in the gloom.

"Dar's no tellin' what trouble he may get into widout me watchin' and tookin' keer ob him. I's afraid I'm too late to help him."

He would have opened the door and hurried out, but at that moment his keen nostrils caught the appetizing odor of the loaves of bread, amid which he had created havoc a short time before.

"I hab an obspression dat I done eat some ob dat afore I took a nap, but I ain't certain; don't want to make any mistake, and I feels sorter hungry."

There was enough food left to furnish him another good meal, and he did not stop using his peerless teeth and massive jaws until he had secured it.

His rifle was leaning against the wall near the door, where he had left it. He took it in hand, with the intention of opening the door and passing out, when the first real thrill of alarm stirred him. He heard some one attempting to open the door.

He knew it was an enemy, for Kenton, the only friend he had in the neighborhood, would never come there to look for him.

The latch-string being drawn in, it was impossible for the door to be opened, except by great labor from the outside. Nevertheless, some one was pushing at it repeatedly, and with such vigor that there could be no mistake about it.

"Who dar?" demanded Jethro, in his deepest voice, holding his rifle ready to use it in case the Indian effected an entrance.

There was no answer, but the efforts on the outside ceased for a minute, to be resumed more guardedly than at first.

"Go way from der, I toles yo' or yo'll get into trouble," called the youth, in a louder voice, meant to be as threatening as he could make it.

Again the pushing ceased, and all became still.

Jethro heard the wind blowing strongly around the cabin and among the trees beyond. Standing in the open clearing, as did the cabin, no shadow was cast upon it. The narrow windows, therefore, were clearly outlined against the dim moonlight. The youth glanced furtively at them, comprehending more fully than at any time before the sad mistake he had made in disobeying the orders of Kenton. But for that he would not have been in his present plight.

But it was too late for regrets to avail him. All he could do was to fight it out as best he knew how to the end.

Stepping nearer the door, he bent his head and listened. The pressure against the structure had ceased, but he caught the murmur of voices when a few broken sentences were uttered. Their meaning, of course, was beyond his reach.

"Why don't dey be gemmen?" he asked himself, "or talk in American, so dat anoder gemmen can understand 'em? I don't know what dey's talkin' 'bout, and it sounds as if dey don't know demselves."

He could understand, however, that no immediate cause for fear existed.

A dozen brawny Shawanoes could not force the door, and the windows, as has been explained, were too narrow for any one to push his body through.

But, all the same, some mischief was afoot at one of the rear window's—the one into which Jethro Juggens had fired that very day with fatal effect. The disturbance was transferred from the door to the window.

The youth was standing in the middle of the lower apartment, gun in hand, watching and listening. The moon was so placed in the heavens that this particular opening was seen more clearly than any of the others, and peering intently at it, Jethro became conscious of some dark object that was slowly obtruding into his field of vision.

"What de mischief am dat?" he muttered. "Looks like a hobblegoblin, but I knows it am an Injin."

Dimly seen in the partial illumination, the resemblance to the head of a warrior was so close that all doubt was removed from the mind of Jethro Juggens.

"Dat's what I's waiting for," was his thought, as he brought his piece to a level, took the best aim he could in the darkness, and let fly.

The report within the close room was so thunderous that his ears tingled, but confident of the accuracy of his shot, he looked through the smoke at the moonlit opening.

"I didn't hear no yell, but I reckoned dat blowed de top ob his head off afore he could let out de war-whoop dat Mr. Kenton says an Injin always gibs when he cotches his last sickness—gracious hebbins! how's dat?"

Could he believe his eyes? The head at which he had fired only a few feet away had not vanished. There it was, the owner apparently staring in upon him, with the same interest he had shown from the first.

"Dat beats all creation! I knowed I hit him, 'cause I couldn't miss him if I tried. He must had a head as hard as mine—"

If Jethro Juggens was astounded by what had just occurred, he was almost lifted off his feet by what followed before he finished the expression of the thought that was in his mind. Through the narrow window at which he was gazing the muzzle of a gun was thrust and the weapon discharged, the ball passing so close that he felt it nip his ear.

With a howl of dismay the youth leaped a foot in the air and to one side. No one could have had a narrower escape than he, and he knew it.

"Tings are gettin' mixed most obstrageously," he muttered, stepping nearer to one side of the room and proceeding to reload his gun as best he could in the darkness.

Much as Jethro had blundered, and obtuse as he was in many things, he understood what had taken place. That which he supposed to be the head of an Indian was some object presented by the crouching warrior with the purpose of drawing his fire, and it succeeded in doing so. The flash of the negro's rifle revealed where he stood, and the Shawanoe, who was watching for that clew, lost no time in firing, missing by a hair's-breadth a fatal result. Thus it came about that not the least execution was done on either side.

Jethro waited some minutes in order to discover the next movement of his enemies. Nothing presenting itself, he had resort to the dangerous expedient of trying to peer through the different windows. Being enveloped in impenetrable gloom, he could not have been seen by the Indians had they been on the watch, though possibly they might have heard him. As it was, no shot was fired at him, nor was he able to detect anything that could give him the least information of what his enemies were doing, or what they intended to do. They may have been quite near, but he could not get the first glimpse of them.

"Dis yeah am gettin' ser'us," mused Jethro, leaning against the side of the house in order to think more clearly. "I's afeard dat somethin' may happen to Mr. Kenton, and if it does and he can't get back, nor me neither, what's goin' to become of de folks? I 'spose dey am most worried to def now."

Since it looked as if it would be impossible for him to leave the cabin for an indefinite time, the anxiety of the dusky youth to do so increased with every passing minute, until he formed the resolution to make the attempt, no matter what the consequences might prove to himself.

A dispassionate view of the situation would have pronounced Jethro as useful to the pioneers in one place as in another. Possibly, it might have been decided that it was better that he should remain away so long as the peril remained imminent, despite the fact that he had already done them most effective service.

Jethro could not so far forget the first law of human nature as not to debate and hesitate for a considerable while before taking the decisive step.

"I might leave de door open," he reflected, "so dat if any ob de heathen are hangin' round de outside waitin' for a chance to shet me off, I kin dodge back and slam de door in dar faces. Ef I don't see 'em till I git too fur to run back, I kin dive into de woods or hide."

All this sounded well enough in theory, but the young man could not lose sight of one thing: in point of fleetness he could not compare with any of the Shawanoes. They could run him down, as may be said, in a twinkling.

It was impossible for one so inexperienced as he to form a reasonable guess of the intentions of the red men. It was curious, to say the least, that one or two of them should linger in the vicinity of the cabin after the departure of the pioneers for the block-house. Even Simon Kenton could not have guessed their purpose.

"Dey couldn't hab seed me go in," thought Jethro, "for, if dey did, dey would hab hollered to me and asked me who I was lookin' fur; I'd gib 'em some sass, and den dar would hab been a row and some ha'r pullin'."

The youth leaned against the side of the apartment a brief while longer in intense cogitation, and then sighed.

"I ain't used to tinkin' so hard as dis; it exhorsts me."

To remedy which he groped his way to the huge bread box, a few paces away. There was enough, left to furnish a person of ordinary appetite with a good meal, but, when he ceased, nothing was left.

"Umph! dat rewives me; I feel stronger now—I'll do a little more hard tinkin'—graciousnation, I's got it!" he exclaimed, leaping from the floor in exultation; "why didn't I tink ob it afore? I'll hold one ob dese boxes ober me, so dey can't see nuffin' ob me, and den walk out ob de house and straight 'cross de clearin' to de woods. When I got dar, I'll flung de box off en run! Dat's de plan, suah I's born!"