“Miss Armstrong, I am on a secret mission for your father,” he said, when they heard the door shut violently. “I can not disclose it yet, so please bear with me. We must now relieve the gate guards.”
He walked rapidly toward the gate, where three sturdy settlers stood.
“Jones, Vanderberg and Poston, I believe,” he said, pausing before the trio, whose forms were just visible in the gloom.
“Yes,” answered a rough voice, “them’s we. What’s wanting?”
“Our new captain wants Vanderberg and Poston to the council up-stairs. Wolf-Cap advocates a change of tactics. We—Miss Armstrong and I—will guard the gate with Jones, until relieved. We were sent hither for that duty.”
Matt Hunter paused; but the two men hesitated. Since the arrest of Zebulon Strong, they did not know whom to trust, and theirs was the most important post connected with the safety of the fort.
“No doubt other strength will be sent hither on your appearance above,” said Hunter, uneasily. “Your voices are needed in the council. You can leave your muskets here; but I think we will not need ’em. Wolf-Cap reports the foe under cover.”
His last words decided the guards; they leaned their muskets against the stockade and left the gate.
Without difficulty they gained the interior of the fort, and paused a moment to inquire into the progress of the well-diggers.
Then they ascended the ladder and appeared in the battle-room. The storm had spent its fury by this time, but the wind was flaring the dips and imparting a demi-gloom to the entire interior of the place. Still, the light enabled the sentries to see men at the port-holes, and the women were scrubbing the floor with bedding. There was nothing that looked like a council of war.