oked rather nice then. And you know you frightened them so before. You
are so awfully brave--aren't you?'

'I--I don't think I feel quite so awfully brave as I did then,' he
admitted.

'Ah, but you will. Jack and Guy will be quite safe with you. Good-bye;
I'm going to get some mulberry-leaves for my silkworms.' And she ran off
cheerfully.

It was his hard fate that everybody persisted in treating the affair in
one of two ways--either they looked upon it as part of the army game, or
else considered him such a champion, on the strength of his past
exploits, that there was practically no danger even if a whole tribe of
Redskins came to attack him.

Luncheon that day was a terrible meal for him. Uncle Lambert (though he
was too great a coward to go near the fight himself) seemed very anxious
that the defenders should be in good condition. 'Give yourself a
chance, General,' he would say; 'another slice of this roly-poly pudding
may just turn the scale between you and Yellow Vulture. Look at the
army--they're victualling for a regular siege!'

But Clarence was quite unable to follow their example; he was annoyed
with them for what he considered was 'showing off'--though he might have
reflected that to consume three helpings of jam-and-suet in rapid
succession was an almost impossible form of bravado.

The rest of the afternoon he spent in trying to lower the army's
confidence by telling all the gruesome stories of Indian warfare he
could think of; but he frightened himself a great deal more than them,
and at last had to abandon the attempt in despair.

For Jack and Guy had no nerves to speak of; they were eager to clear
their tarnished reputation, and the possibility of harm coming to them
did not seem to present itself. They had formed rather a poor opinion of
Buffalo Bill's Indians, whose yell turned out to be very little more
than short yelps, and who ran away directly a Cowboy showed his nose.
Hadn't Clarence defeated them with ease already? What Clarence had done
alone they surely could do together, and then they had an unbounded
belief in the impregnable character of their stockade.

Tinling found that he could not undeceive them without exposing himself,
which he would still rather die than do, and he roamed about the
grounds, making a little mental calculation whenever a clock struck in
the heavy afternoon stillness: 'In so many hours from this I shall be
fighting hand-to-hand with real Indians!'

Then at t