Ellis Edward Sylvester - Ned in the Block-House: A Tale of Early Days in the West стр 19.

"It looks to me as if Heaven raised up Deerfoot to be such a friend to the white people, as Pocahontas was during the early New England settlements."

Such was the thought that had come to Ned Preston more than once and which thought was the echo of the one uttered by his father months before. The lad did not repeat the words now, but the expression of pain which crossed his face, told his anguish more impressively than the words themselves could have done.

Without making reply, the youth stepped to one of the loopholes on the western side of the block-house and looked out toward the river, fixing his gaze on the point where he had parted company with the Indian youth.

Everything was as quiet as at "creation's morn." The glimmer of the flowing Licking, the dim, solemn woods, the unsightly stumps on the clearing, the blue sky above and beyond all these wore the peaceful look they wore when no peril threatened the

diminutive settlement.

Only one figure that of the Wyandot warrior, stark and stiff in the sunlight spoke of the dreadful scenes that had been enacted on that spot such a brief while before.

Ned scrutinized the little clump of bushes which had sheltered the young Shawanoe, when making his marvelous shot with his bow and arrow, but not the first sign of life was visible.

"I don't know whether to take heart from that or not," said the lad to himself; "for, if they had captured Deerfoot, I should think they would make some display over it, so as to impress us."

"If they got the young redskin," observed Jo Stinger, standing at the elbow of Ned, "it wouldn't have been there ; that varmint would have made a fight, and he would have given them a good run before they brought him down."

Ned Preston felt the force of this declaration, but he stood silent several minutes longer, still watching the bushes with a weak hope that they would give some sign that would bid him take heart.

But he was disappointed, and, withdrawing his gaze, he looked at the well which stood very near the middle of the square within the stockade.

"Uncle," said Ned, addressing his relative without regard to his military title, "I heard you tell father that you meant to dig a well inside the block-house, so the Indians could not cut off the water."

"I did intend to do so, and it ought to have been done long ago, but you know that men, like boys, are apt to put off till to-morrow that which should be done to-day."

"The Wyandots can destroy that well any night, or they can tear away some of the stockades so as to shoot any one who goes near it."

"That is self-evident, I am sorry to say."

"You have a barrel of water in the house?"

"Yes, an abundance for every purpose, excepting "

The Colonel hesitated and smiled: all knew what he meant. The most dangerous enemy they had to fear, was the very one against which no efficient provision had been made.

When the block-house was erected, and for a considerable time after, it was practically fire-proof, from the greenness of its timbers. The hewn logs, plastered between with dried clay, could not be easily ignited under the most favorable circumstances, if thoroughly seasoned by the elements; but, when they contained an abundance of sap, there was nothing to fear from such cause.

It was somewhat the same with the slabs which composed the roof. They were green at first, but they had been baked for months and years, and a dry summer had not been long ended, so that they were in reality in a very combustible state. Such solid pieces of oak do not take a flame readily, but, to say the least, there were grounds for grave anxiety.

Colonel Preston reproached himself more than did any of his friends, for this neglect, but it must be borne in mind that the peril was one which threatened almost every such station on the frontier during the early days, and it was one which the hardy pioneers had learned to combat, with a success that often defeated the most daring assailants.

As no immediate attack was feared, the occupants of the block-house disposed themselves as fancy prompted. Blossom Brown stretched out on a blanket in a corner and was soon sound asleep. Megill and Turner did the same, the others occupied seats, with the exception of Mrs. Preston, who, like a good housewife, moved hither and thither, making preparations for the noon-day meal of the garrison, while she kept her children under her eye and made sure they did not wander into dangerous portions of the building.

Ned Preston played with the little girls, told them stories and taught them numerous games of which they had never heard, and which he had picked up for their benefit.

Now and then he walked around the four sides of the room, looking carefully through the loopholes and exchanging theories with his uncle, who employed himself in much the same manner.

Thus the time wore on until the day was half gone. The sky was clearer than twenty-four hours before, and the sun was visible most of the time, but the air was crisp and wintry, and the slight warmth from the fire on the hearth down-stairs was pleasant to those who could feel the grateful glow.