Among these were the family of Mr.Lytle, who, some years previous to the opening of our story, had removed from Baltimore to Path Valley, near Carlisle, and subsequently settled himself on the banks of Plum River, a tributary of the Alleghany.

Here, with his wife and five children, he had continued to live in comfort and security, undisturbed by any hostile visit, and only annoyed by occasional false alarms from his more timorous neighbors, who, having had more experience in frontier life, were prone to anticipate evil, as well as to magnify every appearance of danger.
* * * * * On a bright afternoon in the autumn of 1779, two children of Mr.Lytle, a girl of nine, and her brother, two years younger, were playing in a little dingle or hollow in the rear of their father's house.

Some large trees, which had been recently felled, were lying here and there, still untrimmed of their branches, and many logs, prepared for fuel, were scattered around.

Upon one of these the children, wearied with their sports, seated themselves, and to beguile the time they fell into conversation upon a subject that greatly perplexed them.
While playing in the same place a few hours previous, they had imagined they saw an Indian lurking behind one of the fallen trees.

The Indians of the neighborhood were in the habit of making occasional visits to the family, and they had become familiar and even affectionate with many of them, but this seemed a stranger, and after the first hasty glance they fled in alarm to the house.
Their mother chid them for the report they brought, which she endeavored to convince them was without foundation.