The Wyandot resumed his pipe; the militiamen sat speechless.
“There it is, as plain as the nose on a man’s face!” Joe shouted, exultingly. “Ross Douglas, you hain’t said a word. What do you think?”
Douglas answered quietly:
“I think the savages mean to try to surprise and massacre us. But whether they’ll make the attempt to-night, I don’t know—I have no idea.”
“Hark!” cried a militiaman, nervously springing to his feet. “What’s that hullabaloo ’bout?”
His companions hastily arose and stood listening intently. A chorus of shouts, mingled with curses, came from the direction of the governor’s tent.
“I’ll soon see what’s up,” muttered Farley, bounding away toward the spot whence the sounds came.
The others seated themselves and anxiously awaited his return. The uproar suddenly ceased. A few minutes later, Joe again stood within the circle of light. A broad grin irradiated his homely features.
“What was it?” bawled half a dozen voices at once.