“Let Master Bartlett and Stephen Morley come inside,” I called to Miles Parker, who had been given charge of the gates, keeping my musket levelled all the while, as did my comrades. The two men obeyed the summons in a twinkling, they having come up instantly the gates were closed, and I said as they entered: “I believe it is best that you take charge of the prisoners, because it stands to reason you have had more experience in such matters than any of us; but it strikes me you would do well to first make sure they have no other weapons about them.” Master Bartlett deftly took from the statue-like savages their ammunition, and then said in a matter-of-fact tone: “It’s all right, lad; you can look after other matters, for I guarantee these sneaks will stay with us till we get ready to send them--I know where they’d go if I was in command of this party.” The prisoners moved toward the farther end of the enclosure in obedience to the old man’s direction, and I believed they were to be imprisoned in the shed where we found Elias Shendle. “Well, lads,” I said, cheerily, “we have two more muskets, ammunition to go with them, and a canoe in addition to what we had at sunrise, which is not a bad morning’s work, as I look at it. Andrew Hardy, you had best bring the boat into the stockade, and I will let out the women and children.” Half an hour later matters inside the fort were much as before the enemy came within sight, save that in the shed, bound hand and foot to heavy logs, sat two scowling savages, and I hardly dared trust myself to look at the curs, so sorely did my fingers itch to give them righteous punishment for the murders they had committed. The women were on the platforms again, and all the other able-bodied of the party, women as well as men, continued the work of strengthening the stockade. There was no further interruption to the labor that day, and when night came I believed the walls were strong enough to resist any attack, save that by fire, which might be made. “We’re in better shape than we were this morning,” Giles March said, in a tone of satisfaction, as we went up to the blockhouse for our supper, after which we counted on relieving Esther Hinchman and her three companions from sentinel duty. “One man and two women have been added to the number of defenders; the ammunition they brought, and that taken from the prisoners, makes a good showing, and, best of all, we’ve got more weapons than before those curs blundered into our trap. If we could do as well every day the Minute Boys of Wyoming Valley would soon begin to loom up big.” It pleased me that he could find so much reason for rejoicing in our situation, because I could not take my mind from the fact that soon we would have so many mouths to feed our store of provisions would speedily be exhausted. I myself took Esther Hinchman’s place on the platform as sentinel, and said, as she lingered a moment beside me: