“Elias Shendle’s arithmetic is strangely out of sorts when he claims that there are but an hundred Indians nearabout, for of a verity twice that number of shots have already been fired.” Then, turning my head ever so slightly, I looked to see if Master Bartlett was still on his feet, fearing lest he had been stricken down, and the old man was close at my heels, smiling, if you please, because we had thus far run the gauntlet in safety. It heartened me wondrously to hear him cry: “They need practice at a target, lad, before they shoot at moving game.” Then, ere one could have counted ten, we were safe within the stockade, and I gripping Giles March’s hand, as if he and I had both come from our graves to meet each other. “It was a narrow shave,” one of the lads who crowded around us said, and Master Bartlett replied with a laugh: “Ay, narrow, if you please, but yet margin enough and to spare, since we are here sound of body, although a little lacking in wind.” And thus did the old man come out from the race with death, having a jest upon his lips, even as I have known him in later days when the peril was equally great. I had returned none too soon, so Giles March told me when we stood apart from the others that I might learn what had happened during my absence. The lads were growing faint-hearted, having come to understand full well the force which menaced from the outside, and knowing that the slightest relaxation of vigilance meant a decided advantage to the enemy. It could not be otherwise than disheartening to know that possibly all the strength which the Tories could muster was about to be directed upon us, and our number so small that, even though each lad proved to be a host in himself, we were all too few to defend the stockade at every point. “There are four or five among us whose hearts have grown faint,” Giles said, “and unless their courage can be brought up to the sticking-point, there is a fear in my heart that they will make the others timorous.” “And yet what may we do, Giles?” I asked, in perplexity. “We cannot put blood in veins that are filled with milk.” “I believe it were better that we sent them away. To my mind the company would be stronger without them.” “Unless they be lads who are well versed in woodcraft, the chances of their getting away are exceeding small,” I replied, and, while I was describing to him what I had seen, both in company with Elias and while returning with Master Bartlett, the old man joined us. “You lads are in a position where open battle is to be preferred, rather than this constant nagging by bullets whenever a head is shown above the stockade,” he said, as if thinking aloud, and so much confidence did I have in his courage and judgment that I repeated what Giles had told me, whereupon he said gravely: