CHAPTER XIII
AT THE FORT
The cry of the warriors in the woods was answered by a single cry from the log houses. It was that of the women and children, but it was not repeated. They had learned the frontier patience and courage and they settled themselves down to helping—the women and all the children that were large enough—and to waiting. The men at the palisade replied to the Indian volley, some shooting from the crest, while others sent their bullets through loopholes.
Major Braithwaite was standing erect near Henry. After the volley and reply, followed by silence, he took one look about to see that the palisade was well-manned. Then it seemed to Henry that his figure stiffened and grew taller. His nostrils distended and a spark appeared in his eyes. The old soldier smelt the fire and smoke of battle once more, and the odor was not wholly ungrateful to him.
"Young sir," he said, turning to Henry, "we owe you a great debt. You got here just in time to save us from surprise."
"I'm glad," replied Henry, "that one of us was lucky enough to get through."
"One of you? What did you mean? Did others start?"
Henry flushed. He had not meant to say anything about the circumstances of his coming. It was a slip, but he could not take it back.
"There were five of us when we started," he said. "We were sure that at least one of us would get here."