“Oh, don’t despair, my boy,” he said, cheerfully. “It has seemed very desperate several times, but the Indians are still at bay, and we are alive.”
“Yes, father, but—”
“Well?”
“The fort is burnt down.”
“Yes; the enemy got the better of us there, but we are not beaten yet. Things looked black last night; after rest and food they are as different as can be. When shall you be ready to start home to begin rebuilding?”
“You are only talking like that, father, to cheer me up,” I said, sadly. “Do you think I don’t know that it is all over?”
“I do not think—I am sure you don’t know, my boy,” he said, smiling. “How can you? A battle is never lost till it is won. Did you ever see two cocks fight?”
“Yes; once or twice, father,” I said, wonderingly.
“So have I,” he replied, “not in the case of so-called sport, but naturally, as such birds will fight; and I have seen one beaten down, apparently quite conquered, and the victor as he believed himself has leaped upon his fallen adversary and begun to crow.”
“Yes, I know,” I cried, eagerly; “and then the beaten bird has struggled and spurred the other so fiercely that he has run away in turn.”