ll," said the old hunter, as we met again in front of
the Castle. "We must see, and not be seen."

"We can stay in the Castle, and fire out the windows, then," suggested
Mr. Mellowtone.

"That won't do. It hain't but two winders, and none on the wood side,"
replied Kit. "We must make a block house, or sunthin' o' that sort.
Here's plenty of timber sticks."

He pointed to the pile of wood which we had hauled to the vicinity of
the Castle during the milder days of the winter, when Matt was able to
be out. The sticks were about eight feet long, and suitable for such a
stockade as I had seen at the fort twenty miles up the Missouri.

"You mean to build a fort?" asked Mr. Mellowtone.

"That's jest what I mean," replied Kit; "a kind of a den we kin fire
out on, and will turn a bullet at the same time."

"Where shall we put it?"

"Jest on the ridge back of the barn. Then we kin see the whole
clearin', and draw a bead on a Injun jest as quick as he shows his
head. We hain't no time to lose, nuther."

"I'm ready," replied Mr. Mellowtone, throwing off his coat.

"Fetch on the shovels, boy," added Kit.

I furnished them with picks and shovels, and went to the high ground in
the rear of the barn. We carried all the arms with us. Kit marked out a
circle about ten feet in diameter, outside of which we began to dig a
trench. The ground was soft for the first foot, and the work easy.
Below this the labor was very severe. We watched the woods all the
time, that the Indians might not surprise us. We were out of the range
of their rifles, and only by coming into the open space could they fire
with any chance of hitting us. We found they were not disposed to waste
powder, and we judged that their supplies of ammunition were as low as
those of food.

At noon I was relieved from work to get some dinner for my companions.
I went back to the Castle and built a fire. The form of Matt lay on the
bed in the room where I was at work, covered over with the quilt. I put
the fish and potatoes on the fire, but I could not refrain from crying.
I had often before attended to my domestic work while the old man lay
in the bed, but he was never so still as now. He did not speak to me,
and did not know that I was there. I could not help looking frequently
at the bed, and gazing at the outline of his form beneath the quilt.
His death might change the whole current of my destiny, but I did not
think much of that then. I dwelt only upon the loss I