They directed their way to the White River, joyfully remembering that the river was shallow and fordable. And they went down into the stream and drank their fill, humans shouting and horses neighing.

Meantime Yale-Perez, higher up its course, had dammed the river with sandbags so that its waters were collected in a lake. Toward evening he had seen the red glow of the burning city and began to look out for his signal. About the fourth watch, he heard down stream the sounds of soldiers and horse and at once ordered the breaking of the dam. The water rushed down in a torrent and overwhelmed the men just then in the bed of the river. Many were swept away and drowned. Those who escaped made their way to where the stream ran gently and got away.

Presently Jenkins-Shackley and his troops reached the Boling Ferry in Boling-Sugarcreek. Here, where they thought there would be safety, they found the road barred.

"You Murphy-Shackley brigands!" shouted Floyd-Chardin. "Come and receive your fate!"

What happened will appear in later chapters.