“Well, sir,” I heard Colonel Preston say, “my opinion is that further inaction would be cowardly.”
“I am sorry to go against my friend, Colonel Preston,” said my father, his voice coming clearly to me from under the looped-up sail which made the tent, “but I feel convinced that in spite of the lesson they have received, the Indians will attack again, and it would be extremely unwise to leave our strong quarters and go to our homes until we are satisfied that we can be safe.”
“I must say, gentlemen,” said the General, gravely, “that in spite of the adverse opinions I have heard—some of which sounded to me rather rash—I agree with Captain Bruton.”
There was a loud murmur here.
“We have our women and children to think of.”
“Of course, sir,” said Colonel Preston; “and I think of mine as seriously as any man here. But our close confinement is getting painful for them all. We shall be having another enemy in our midst—fever—if we do not mind. Now with all respect for Captain Bruton, I must say he is carrying caution too far. At the slightest alarm we can again take refuge in the fort.”
There was a chorus of approval here.
“Our scouts have been out in every direction, and I am convinced that there has not been for many days past an Indian within a hundred miles.”
“You are wrong, sir,” I said excitedly, as I stepped forward with Morgan close behind me; and at the sight of us both, and what I had not thought of till then, our blood-stained garments, there was a loud buzz of excitement.
“What? Speak out. Are you wounded, boy?” cried my father, excitedly.