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"I'll run ye some," she said, taking from a shelf a small iron ladle, a few bars of lead, and a pair of bullet molds."Fur more'n a hunderd years the women uv our fam'ly hev run all the bullets our menfolks shot.They b'lieved hit made 'em lucky.Granfather Fortner killed an Injun chief acrost the Maumee River at the battle of Fallen Timbers with a bullet thet Granmother hed run fur him an' markt with a little cross.Afore the battle begun Franfather tuck the bullet outen his pouch an' put hit inter his mouth, until he could git a chance ter use hit on big game.He brot the chief's scalp hum ter Granmother.""I believe the bullets you cast for me will do good service," said Harry, with sincerity in his tones.

"I'm sartin of hit," she returned, confidently."I hev adopted ye in my heart ez a son, an' I feel towards ye ez ef ye were raylly uv my own kin.I know ye'll be a credit to yerself an' me."While the lead was melting upon the bed of coals she drew out on the hearth, she sat in her low chair with her hands clasped about her knees, and her great gray eyes fixed upon the depths of a mass of glowing embers in the fireplace, as if she saw there vivid pictures of the past or revelations of the future.

"How wonderfully bright an' glowin' hit is in thar," she said musingly; "hit's purer an' brighter then ennything else on arth.

'Purified ez by fire,' the Book says.My God, Thou has sent Thy fires upon me ez a sweepin' flood.Hev they purified me ez Thou wisht? How hit shines an' glows away in thar! Hit seems so deep sometimes thet I kin skeercely see the end.A million times purer an' brighter is the light thet shines from the Throne uv God.

THEY'RE lookin' at thet now, while I still tarry heah.Husband an'

son, when will I go to ye? When will I finish the work the Lord hez fur me ter do? When will the day uv my freedom come? May-be to-morrer--may-be to-morrer."She began singing softly:

"An' when a shadder falls acrost the winder Of my room, When I am workin' my app'inted task, I lift my head to watch the door an' ask If he is come;An' the angel answers sweetly In my home:

'Only a few more shadders An' He will come.'""Aunt Debby, honey," said Fortner, rousing himself from a nap in his chair, "thet thar lead's burnin'.Better run yer bullets."She started as if waked from a trance, pressed her slender thin hands to her eyes for an instant, and then taking the molds up in herleft hand she raised the ladle with her right, filled them from it, knocked the molded balls out by a tap on the floor, and repeated the process with such dexterous quickness that she had made fifty bullets before harry realized that she was fairly at work.

"Ye men hed better lay down an' git some sleep," she said, as she replaced the molds and ladle on the shelf."Ye'll need all yer strength to-morrer.I'll neck these bullets, an' git together some vittles fur the trip, an' then I'll lay down a while.We orter start airly--soon arter daybreak."They did start early the next morning, with Aunt Debby riding upon the roads that wound around the mountain sides, while Fortner led the men through the shorter by-paths.

Noon had passed some hours, and yet they had come across no signs of wagons.Aunt Debby was riding along a road cut out of the rocks about mid-way up the mountain.To her right the descent was almost perpendicular for a hundred feet or more to where a creek ran at the bottom of a cliff.To her left the hill rose up steeply to a great height.Fortner and the others saw Aunt Debby galloping back, waving the red handkerchief which was her signal of the approach of a wagon.After her galloped a Rebel Sergeant, with revolver drawn shouting to her to stop or he would fire.Abe Bolton stepped forward impulsively to shoot the Rebel, missed his footing, and slid down the hill, landing in the orad with such force as to jar into unintelligibiliy a bitter imprecation he had constructed for the emergency.He struck in front of the Sergeant, who instantly fired at Aunt Debby's mare, sending a bullet through the faithful animal, which sank to her knees, and threw her rider to the ground.Without waiting to rise, and he was not certain that he could, Abe fired his musket, but missed both man and horse.He scrambled to his feet, and ran furiously at the Rebel with raised gun.The Sergeant fired wildly at him, when Bolton struck the animal a violent blow across the head.It recoiled, slipped, and in another instant had fallen over the side of the road, and crushed his rider on the rocks below.Five of the wagon-guard who were riding ahead of the wagon galloped forward at the sound of the shots.Fortner, Edwards and Harry Glen fired into these, and three saddles were emptied.The remaining two men whirled their horses around, fired wildly into the air, and dashed back upon the plunging team, with which the driver was vainly struggling.The ground quivered as the frightened animals struck together; they were crushed back upon their haunches, and beat one another cruelly with their mighty hoofs.Wagon, horses and men reeled on the brink an agonizing instant; the white-faced driver dropped the lines and sprang to the secure ground; the riders strained with the energy of deadly fear to tear themselves loose from their steeds, but in vain.Then the frantic mess crashed down the jagged rocks, tearing up the stunted cedars as if they were weeds, and fell with a sounding splash on the limestone bed of the shallow creek.

Fortner, Glen and Edwards came down as quickly as possible, the latter spraining his ankle badly by making a venturesome leap to reach the road first.They found a man that Fortner had shot at stone dead, with a bullet through his temple.The other two had been struck in the body.Their horses stood near, looking wonderingly at their prostrate masters.