For a moment an overpowering despair at the prospect of their fate almost paralyzed her.  She believed her father was dead.  The boy who had aided her at first was now dazed and helpless from terror.  If aught could be done in this supreme moment of peril she saw that it must be done by her hands.  The smoke from the kindling fire without was already curling in through the crevices around the door.  There was not a moment, not a second to be lost.  The ruffians’ voices were growing fainter and she heard the sounds of their horses’ feet.  Would they go away in time for her to extinguish the fire?  She ran to her attic room and cautiously opened the shutter.  Yes, they were mounting; and in the faint light of the late-rising moon she saw that they were taking her father’s horses.  A moment later, as if fearing that the blaze might cause immediate pursuit, they dashed off toward the mountains.

The clatter of their horses’ hoofs had not died away before the intrepid girl had opened the shutter of a window nearest the ground, and springing lightly out with a pail in her hand she rushed to the trough near the barn, which she knew was full of water.  Back and forth she flew between the fire and the convenient reservoir with all the water that her bruised arms and back permitted her to carry.  Fortunately the night was a little damp, and the stout thick door had kindled slowly.  To her intense joy she soon gained the mastery of the flames, and at last extinguished them.

She did not dare to open the door for fear that the robbers might return, but clambering in at the window, made all secure as had been customary, for now it was her impulse to do just as her father would have done.

She found her mother on her knees beside her father, who would indeed have been a ghastly and awful object to all but the eyes of love.

“Oh, Phebe, I hope—­I almost believe thy father lives!” cried the woman.  “Is it my throbbing palm, or does his heart still beat?”

“I’m sure it beats, mother!” cried the girl, putting her little hand on the gashed and mangled body.

“Oh, then there’s hope!  Here, Abner,” to the boy, “isn’t there any man in thee?  Help Phebe get him on the bed, and then we must stop this awful bleeding.  Oh, that I were well and strong!  Phebe, thee must now take my place.  Thee may save thy father’s life.  I can tell thee what to do if thee has the courage.”

Phebe had the courage and with deft hands did her mother’s bidding.  She stanched the many gaping wounds; she gave spirits at first drop by drop, until at last the man breathed and was conscious.  Even before the dawn began to brighten over the dreaded Highlands which their ruthless enemies were already climbing, Phebe was flying, bare-headed, across the fields to their nearest neighbor.  The good people heard of the outrage with horror and indignation.  A half-grown lad sprang on the bare back of a young horse and galloped across the country for a surgeon.