e fierce fiery glow that told
of the destruction of the fort and the houses of the settlement, till,
as it all died out, the light growing paler and paler, there was nothing
at last but the cold grey ashes to tell of where the houses had been.

CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

I quite started as a hand was laid upon my shoulder.

"Thinking, George?" said my father. I told him I had been watching the
sunset. Shame kept me from saying more.

"Ah, yes," he said, sadly. "It was very glorious. What a pity that the
beautiful land over which such a sun shines should be spoiled by
bloodshed!"

"Do you think the Indians will come to-night?" I said, a little
huskily.

He was silent for a few moments, and stood gazing in my face.

"Afraid?" he said, with a smile.

"Yes, father," I said, frankly. "It makes me feel afraid. But when all
the fighting and excitement is going on I don't feel to mind it half so
much."

"That is human nature, my boy," he said, smiling. "No doubt there are
men who never know what fear is, but they must be very rare. I have
known very few."

"But you, father?" I said, excitedly. "You never knew what it was to
be afraid?"

He laughed as he pressed my shoulder with his hand.

"Always, my boy, when I am going to encounter danger, and from the
General downward, I think I may say we all feel fear. It is no disgrace
to a brave man to shrink from that which he has to encounter. Why, my
experience teaches me that those men who think and feel in this way do
the bravest deeds."

"Then I needn't be ashamed of feeling a little alarm--I mean being a bit
of a coward now, father?"

"No," he said, with a peculiar smile. "But as it is highly probable
that we shall be attacked to-night, it would be as well to be careful.
The women and children are all in the block-house now; the men will be
strongly posted at the gates and palisade, while the reserves will be in
front of the block-house, in our rough outer works, ready to go to any
menaced point or to cover their comrades if they have to retreat, and we
are compelled to take to the block-house as a last resource.--There: I
must go. You are tired, boy. You have had a long and perilous day.
I'll excuse you from everything to-night, and you had better get to the
block-house and have a good night's rest."

"Oh, don't say that, father," I cried, dolefully. "Go and be shut up
there with the women and children!"

"What do you wish to do, then?" he said