He obeyed, and as he crossed the threshold the door was closed again and barred.
“Ye warn’t lookin’ for me to-night, I guess,” he said, taking in the room at a glance.
“No, neighbor Belt; but you are none the less welcome. Father has just retired—”
“I’ll be thar in a minute, Belt,” interrupted a man’s voice in the next room. “I thought it war you when I heard your step on the porch. What’s up? Ye kin talk while I dress.”
“A good deal what’s bad is up,” said Wolf-Cap, in a loud one. “Hull has surrendered, and a swarm of British and Indians are pouring down upon the frontier.”
“Who told you, Belt?”
The speaker had appeared like a flash, and, scarcely more than half-dressed, stood before the trapper.
“Who told me?—Johnny Appleseed. He went down the last, Armstrong. We’ve enjoyed comparative quiet thus far during the war; but the cowardice—I know it was just that and nothin’ else—of Hull, has unloosed the dogs of hell, an’ they’ll be here pretty soon. To the block-house is the cry now. If safety lies anywhere, it is there.”
Levi Armstrong, the old settler, stood in the dim light of the tin fat lamp, and quivered with rage.
“Belt,” he said, slowly and with emphasis, “I’m not goin’ to give up the work of my hands without a struggle. You kin bet on that.”