Pembly was not at home, but his wife and children were, and several of the little ones came down to the river front to see the boys at work.
“I don’t think you ought to be down here,” said Joe to a little girl of six, Mary by name.
“Why can’t I be here?” questioned Mary innocently.
“I don’t think it is quite safe. There may be Indians around watching us.”
“Oh, I am not afraid,” was the ready reply.
“But you ought to be. Better run up to the house where your mamma is.”
“No, I am going to stay here,” answered the little girl, tossing her yellow curls. “If the bad Indians come you can shoot them all down with your big gun.”
“Well, if that isn’t cool!” exclaimed Harry, with a laugh. “Joe, she has cut out a neat bit of work for you.”
“And it’s such an easy thing to do, too,” put in Darry Ford. “Of course, the Indians will all stand up in a row for you, so that you won’t have any trouble in knocking them over.”
“If I had a gun I could shoot an Indian,” went on little Mary. “Let me have your gun, and I’ll show you.”