imple. Nobody minded him or his words.

CHAPTER V.

HORSES: WHITE AND BLACK.

On the morning of the 15th of August, 1812, the sun rose in unclouded
splendor, and transformed the great Lake Michigan into a sheet of
gold.

"It is a good omen," said one of the women at Fort Dearborn, as she
looked out over the shining water.

But only the merry children responded to her attempted cheerfulness.

"We shall have a grand ride. I wish nobody need make the journey on
foot; and I'm glad, for once, I'm just a boy, and not a grown-up man."

"Even a boy may have to do a man's work, this day, Gaspar Keith. I
wish that you were strong enough to hold a gun; but you have been
taught how to use an arrow. Is your quiver well supplied?"

That his captain should speak to him, a child, so seriously, impressed
the lad profoundly. His ruddy cheek paled, and a fit of trembling
seized him. A sombre memory rose to frighten him, and he caught his
breath as he asked:

"Do you think there will be any trouble, Captain Heald? I thought I
heard the soldiers saying that the Pottawatomies would take care of
us."

"Who trusts to an Indian's care leans on a broken reed. You know that
from your own experience. Surely, you must remember your earlier
childhood, even though you have been forbidden to talk of it here."

"Oh! I do, I do! Not often in the daytime, but in the long, long
nights. The other children sleep. They have never seen what I did, or
heard the dreadful yells that come in my dreams and wake me up. Then I
seem to see the flames, the blood, the dead white faces. Oh, sir,
don't tell me that must come again: don't, don't! I cannot bear it. I
would rather die right now and here--safe in our Fort."

Instantly the soldier regretted his own words. But the lad was one of
the larger children at the garrison and should be incited, he thought,
to take some share in the matter of defence, should defence be
necessary. He had not known that under Gaspar's quiet, almost sullen
demeanor, had lain such hidden experiences. Else he would have talked
them over with the boy, and have tried to make him forget instead of
remember his early wrongs.

For Gaspar Keith was the son of an Indian trader, and had been born in
an isolated cabin far to the northwest of his present home. The little
cabin had been overflowing with young life and gayety, even in that
wilderness. His mother was a Frenchwoman of the happiest possible
temperament and, becaus