" said Henry, "but it will need every
one of them."

"Yes," said Tom Ross; "an' ef the women, too, kin shoot, so much the
better."

That night they encamped again in one of the openings so numerous
throughout the country, and, as before, they fortified; but the women and
children were getting over their fear. They were too strong. The Indians
would not dare to attack a train defended by three hundred marksmen--two
hundred and fifty men and at least fifty women who could and would shoot
well. So their voices were no longer subdued, and jest and laughter passed
within the circle of the wagons.

Paul remained by one of the fires, Henry and Shif'less Sol suggesting that
he do so because he was already a huge favorite with everybody. He was
sitting comfortably before the coals, leaning against a wagon wheel, and
at least a score of little boys and girls were gathered about him. They
wanted to know about the great wilderness, and the fights of himself and
his comrades with the red warriors. Paul, though modest, had the gift of
vivid narrative. He described Wareville, that snug nest there in the
forest, and the great battle before its wooden walls; how the women, led
by a girl, had gone forth for water; how the savages had been beaten off,
and the dreadful combat afterward in the forest through the darkness and
the rain. He told how he had been struck down by a bullet, only to be
carried off and saved by his comrade, Henry Ware--the bravest, the most
skillful, and the strongest hunter, scout, and warrior in all the West.
Then he told them something of their life in the winter just closed,
although he kept the secret of the haunted island, which was to remain the
property of his comrades and himself.

The children hung upon his words. They liked this boy with the brilliant
eyes, the vivid imagination, and the wonderful gift of narrative, that
could make everything he told pass before their very eyes.

"And now that's enough," said Paul at last. "You must all go to sleep, as
you are to start on your journey again early in the morning. Now, off with
you, every one of you!"

He rose, despite their protests, this prince of story tellers, and,
bidding them good-night, strolled with affected carelessness outside the
circle of wagons. The night was dark, like the one preceding, but the
riflemen were on guard within the shadows of the wagons.

"Do you see anything?" Paul asked of one.

"Nothing but the forest," he replied.