"You must do that, or take the chances of providin' sport for the painted snakes, as you were like to do a short time ago," Kenton replied curtly, and I understood by the tone that he was losing patience because of the man's stubbornness. Having thus spoken the young scout turned once more to stand guard at the loophole, and Paul, the lad, his meal ended, came timidly toward where I was stationed. He appeared to be a boy after my own heart, entirely different in manners and speech from his father, and I decided at once that we should be firm friends so long as he might remain on the frontier. I could well understand that he was burning with a desire to ask questions, and did not hesitate to give him encouragement to begin. He was eager to know how long I had lived in the wilderness; how often I had fought against the savages, and such like simple questions, all of which I answered until he was come to an end. Then I asked about his home in Maryland; of his journey to the Ohio River, and, finally, how he felt while bound to the stake. "The fear in my heart was so great that I did not fully have my senses," he replied with a shudder. "Not until the fires were kindled and the dancing had begun did I dream that those beasts would put us to death. I was like one in a dream until the first shot was fired, and a savage dropped dead almost at my feet." "We didn't open fire any too soon," I said with perhaps a tinge of pride in my tone because I had played my part well, as it seemed to me. "In another instant the Indian's knife would have been in my body!" he cried. "I could tell by the fierce gleam in his eyes that he counted on taking my life." "The murdering brutes do not kill their prisoners so quickly or easily. He would have prolonged your life to its utmost limit, in order that you might suffer the more." Then I told him of my father's cruel death; of what we had found to tell the horrible story, and before I had finished the tears were running down his cheeks. Simon Kenton must have been listening to our conversation, for he called sharply, when Paul was almost overcome with grief: "You lads had best get what sleep you can before daylight, for as soon as the sun rises, if it so be the red wolves have drawn off, we must set out for Corn Island." I understood that he was not well pleased because I had frightened the lad who was so lately come from the bustling world, and it shamed me because of giving him, who was so brave, an opportunity for reproof. My mother spread out the skins near the fireplace, where I had been in the custom of sleeping, and Paul dutifully laid himself down, while his father remained at the table evidently in a brown study. It was not in my mind to allow Simon Kenton to perform all the labor, and I said stoutly, yet at the same time feeling that my eyes were growing heavy: "I count on doing my share of the watching this night. It is not right that I should sleep while you remain awake."