“Go back!” cried Joe, to the hounds. They instantly obeyed, and the next moment Joe was scampering homeward with all the speed of which his legs were capable.
When he reached the house, his fears were by no means allayed on beholding the most valuable articles of Roughgrove’s dwelling already removed thither, and the ferryman himself, his daughter, Boone and Glenn, assembled in consultation within the inclosure. Joe closed the gate hurriedly after him, and bolted it on the inside.
“Why did you shut the gate? Open it again,” said Glenn.
“Ain’t we besieged again? ain’t the Indians all around us, ready to rush in and take our scalps?” said Joe, obeying the command reluctantly.
“They will not trouble us before night,” said Roughgrove.
“No, we need not fear them before night,” remarked Boone, whose continued thoughtful aspect impressed Glenn with the belief that he apprehended more than the usual horrors of Indian warfare during the impending attack.
“They will burn father’s house, but that is nothing compared to what I fear will be his own fate!” murmured Mary, dejectedly.
“We can soon build him another,” said Glenn, moved by the evident distress of the pale girl; “and I am very sure that my little stone castle will suffice to preserve not only your father and yourself, but all who take shelter in it, from personal injury. So, cheer up, Mary.”
“Oh, I will not complain; it pained me most when I first heard they were coming once more; I will soon be calm again, and just as composed when they are shooting at us, as I was the other time. But you will be in a great deal more danger than you were that night. Yet Boone is with us again—he must save us,” said Mary.
“Why do you think there will be more danger, Mary?” asked Glenn.