He, too, a man of fifty and the head of a community, shared the
emotions of those around him, and was filled with a furious zeal for the
conflict.
The clouds thickened and darkened, and the cold drops were driven upon
them by the wind, the rifle smoke, held down by the rain, made sodden
banks of vapor among the trees; but through all the clouds of vapor
burst flashes of fire, and the occasional triumphant shout or death cry
of the white man or the savage.
Henry Ware looked up and he became conscious that not only clouds above
were bringing the darkness, but that the day was waning. In the west a
faint tint of red and yellow, barely discernible through the grayness,
marked the sinking sun, and in the east the blackness of night was still
advancing. Yet the conflict, as important to those engaged in it, as a
great battle between civilized foes, a hundred thousand on a side, and
far more fierce, yet hung on an even chance. The white men still stood
where they had stood when the forest battle began, and the red men who
had not been able to advance would not retreat.
Henry's heart sank a little at the signs that night was coming; it would
be harder in the darkness to keep their forces in touch, and the
superior numbers of the Shawnees would swarm all about them.
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