The crack of musket-shots on the other side of the house could now be heard, and it was evident that the fight was renewed, but at the same time dark faces appeared at the opening into the covered way. George, loading the swivel himself, pointed it, and, by way of a salutary warning, sent a four-pound shot screaming through the kitchen. Not an Indian showed himself after that. They had met resistance on the other side of the house too, and as the moon went slowly down the horizon in the pale gray of dawn the watchers from the eye-holes saw them draw off and take their way rapidly across the white ground into the mountains. The snow was blood-stained in many places, showing that the musketry fire had been very effective; but the Indians were so skilful in concealing their losses, and so stoical in regard to their wounds, that it was hard to tell exactly how they had fared, except that they had been driven off. Just as day was breaking Lord Fairfax came to George. “You have had your first taste of ball-cartridges,” said he, smiling. “What do you think of it?” George hesitated and remained silent for a moment. “At first,” he said, “I hardly knew what I was doing. Afterwards, it seemed to me, I had never thought so quickly in my life.” “Witness the dragging out of the swivel,” continued Lord Fairfax; “and let me tell you this--the difference between an ordinary general and a great general is that the ordinary man cannot think in a hurry and in the midst of terrible emergencies, but the great man thinks the better for the very things that shake and disconcert an every-day man. You may some day prove a great general, George.” The boy blushed, but said nothing. Lance had then come up. “Shall I have the carpenters go to work directly, sir, replacing that door? By night we can have as strong a one made and hung as the one they burst in,” he said. “Certainly,” replied Lord Fairfax. “Have them go all over the house and repair the damages. But first let them have breakfast, for fighting always makes men hungry. And look after that wounded man over yonder.” Lance, who had some experience in gunshot wounds, went over and examined Black Bear’s injured leg carefully. He then ordered water brought, with some simple dressing, and washed and dressed the wound. Black Bear, through it all, maintained his stolid silence. When, however, Lance had him picked up by two stalwart negroes and carried into their quarters, where a fire was burning, the Indian could not banish a faint expression of surprise from his countenance. He had heard that the white men treated prisoners well, but he had no correct idea of what good treatment to prisoners meant. He was given a good breakfast, at which he was utterly astounded, but which he ate with a true Indian appetite. He gave no sign of feeling, however, except a grunt of approval.