“He has run that chance ever since you’ve had him,” remarked Mason. “Every time you’ve been in a fight your horse has been in danger of being killed.”
“I know it,” said Joseph. “At the same time they haven’t been turning all their attention to him.”
“They’re going now, anyway,” remarked Robert. “We’ve made it too hot for them, I guess. We seem to be pretty good men to defend blockhouses, don’t we? What do you say to our hiring ourselves out for that purpose all along the frontier?”
“You’d better clear them out of this neighborhood before you start in anywhere else, Red,” cautioned Mason.
“They are clearing out of here now,” replied Robert. “Just look out of that porthole and you can see them going.”
What Robert said was true. Black Hawk had drawn off his forces and could now be seen leading his warriors in retreat across the prairie. His attempt to take the blockhouse had resulted in absolute failure, but five white men were dead as a result of his visit. One of the five was Walt and his loss was keenly felt by his companions.
“Poor old Walt,” exclaimed Joseph sorrowfully. “I’m sorry he had to go.”
“He died a soldier’s death, though,” said Robert. “I’d like to get a shot at the Indian that killed him; also at those demons who stabbed and mutilated the bodies out there on the prairie.”
“Look here, boys,” observed John Mason quietly. “There is no use in talking about unpleasant subjects. No one feels the loss of Walt more than I. He was a good friend of mine and I had known him for years. He died bravely but his death was only a part of the game after all. I wish he was back, but wishing won’t bring him. Talking and thinking won’t do any good either and I say we try to forget about it. It seems to me that is the most sensible thing for us to do.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Joseph. “It makes one feel badly, though.”