“As sure as you live, Mr. Washington, there were some red devils skulking about, and when they get a firelock in their hands the first thing they want to do is to kill a white man. The Frenchmen sell them muskets, and give them firewater, and set them against us. I knew, the minute I put my eyes on that copper-colored rascal, that he had murder and arson in his heart; but we’ll be able to keep them off, Mr. Washington.” “Why is it that you think they want to capture this house?” asked George, thoughtfully. “Because we have a plenty of arms and ammunition here. It is hard to get either over the mountains, and it would be a small fortune to any Indian to get a musket and a powder-horn. Then we have dried provisions in plenty--enough to last us six months if we get nothing from the outside--and dried provisions is what the Indians fancy. And my lord is opposed to the French, and no doubt they have set the Indians against us; and then the Indians like the killing, just for the fun of the thing. I think I shall sleep with one eye open until I hear that Mr. Black Bear and his friends are no longer in this neighborhood.” That night, after supper, George and the earl talked over Lance’s suspicions. Lord Fairfax thought they were not ill founded, but he was not a man to excite himself over possibilities. The talk drifted towards marksmanship, and the earl, who was an excellent shot, brought out a pair of silver-mounted pistols, small for the time. He had some bullets made of composition, which flattened out against the rough cast wall without making an indentation. George drew a target on the wall, and the earl, standing at the end of the great, low-ceiled hall, made some wonderful shots. George then took the pistols, and fairly surpassed him. The earl taught him to snuff a candle at twenty paces, and other tricks of the kind. So absorbed were they in their pastime that it was nearly midnight before they parted. When George went to his room Billy was not to be seen; but when he was called a woolly head was poked out from under the valance of the high-post bed, and Billy chirped out: “I’se gwi’ sleep under de baid ter-night, Marse George. Mr. Lance, he talk ’bout Injuns, an’ ef dey come, I ain’ gwi’ gin ’em no chance fer to meek a hole in dis heah nigger’s skin. An’ I got de dog wid me, an’ ef he start ter bark, I kin choke him, so dey ain’ never know dee is a dog heah.”