The winter broke up at last, but with the spring came a new and more
formidable danger. Small parties of Indians, not strong enough to attack
Wareville itself but sufficient for forest ambush, began to appear in
the country, and two or three lives that could be ill spared were lost.
Now Henry Ware showed his supreme value; he was a match and more than a
match for the savages at all their own tricks, and he became the ranger
for the settlement, its champion against a wild and treacherous foe.
The tales of his skill and prowess spread far through the wilderness.
Single handed he would not hesitate in the depths of the forest to
attack war parties of half a dozen, and while suffering heavily
themselves they could never catch their daring tormentor. These tales
even spread across the Ohio to the Indian villages, where they told of a
blond and giant white youth in the South who was the spirit of death,
whom no runner could overtake, whom no bullet could slay and who raged
against the red man with an invincible wrath.
As his single hand had fed them through the winter so his single hand
protected them from death in the spring.
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