It was in this moment of confusion that Nathan sprang to the side of Roland, who was hastily recharging his piece, and catching him by the hand, said, with a voice that betrayed the deepest agitation, though his countenance was veiled in night,—­“Friend, I have betrayed thee poor women into danger, so that the axe and scalping-knife is now near their innocent poor heads.”

“It needs not to speak of it,” said Roland; adding hastily.  “The miscreant that entered the cabin—­did you kill him?”

“Kill, friend! I kill!” echoed Nathan, with accents more disturbed than ever; “would thee have me a murderer?  Truly, I did creep over him, and leave the cabin.”

“And left him in it alive!” cried Roland, who was about to rush into the hovel, when Nathan detained him, saying, “Don’t thee be alarmed, friend.  Truly, thee may think it was ill of me to fall upon him so violently; but, truly, be must have split his head upon a log, or wounded himself with a splinter;—­or perhaps the coloured person stuck him with a knife; but, truly, as it happened his blood spouted on my hand, by reason of the hurt he got; so that I left him clean dead.”

“Good!” said Roland; “but, by Heaven, I hoped and believed you had yourself finished him like a man.  But time presses:  we must retreat again to the woods,—­they are yet open behind us.”

“Thee is mistaken,” said Nathan; and, as if to confirm his words, there arose at that moment a loud whooping, with the crack of a dozen or more rifles, let fly with impotent rage by the enemy, showing plainly enough that the ruin was already actually environed.

“The ravine,—­the river!” cried Forrester; “we can swim it with the horses, if it be not fordable.”

“It is a torrent that would sweep thee, with thee strongest war-horse, to perdition,” muttered Nathan:  “does thee not hear how it roars among the rocks and cliffs?  It is here deep, narrow, and rocky; and, though, in the season of drought, a child might step across it from rock to rock, it is a cataract in the time of floods.  No, friend; I have brought thee into a trap whence thee has no escape, unless thee would desert these poor helpless women.”

“Put but them in safety,” said Roland, “and care not for the rest.—­And yet I do not despair:  we have shown what we can do by resolution:  we can keep the cut-throats at bay till the morning.”

“And what will that advantage thee, except to see thee poor females murdered in the light of the sun, instead of having them killed out of thee sight in darkness?  Truly, the first glimmer of dawn will be the signal of death to all; for then the Shawnees will find thee weakness, if indeed they do not find it before.”

“Man!” said Roland, “why should you drive me to despair?  Give me better comfort,—­give me counsel, or say no more.  You have brought us to this pass:  do your best to save us, or our blood be upon your head!”