Chapter Thirteen.
“Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak.
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear.”
Byron.
My friend Ben paused for a moment.
A sheet of lightning almost blinded us. It was followed instantaneously by one of the most terrific peals of thunder I have ever heard in this country.
“It was in just such a storm as this,” said Captain Roberts, “that we took shelter in the ruins of an old fort. We tethered our mules outside, and we had not even the heart to keep the Indians from sharing our quarters. For once, and it was the last time, we ate with them, drank with them, and talked to them. How little we suspected them of treachery!
“We found plenty of dry wood in the old fort and soon had a roaring fire with which to warm up our soup and cook our vegetables.
“‘Who goes sentry to-night?’ I said to the mate.
“‘Well,’ replied the mate, ‘I guess we’d better draw for it. He’ll have a wet skin whoever does it.’