“There is no danger yet,” said Roughgrove, the deep snow having occurred to him at the first announcement of the threatened attack, and produced many painful fears in his breast, which caused a sadness to rest upon his time-worn features; “but,” he continued, “it would not be in our power to remove the snow in two whole days, and a few hours only are left us to prepare for the worst.” “Let them come within the inclosure,” said Glenn, “and even then they cannot harm us. The walls of my house are made of stone, and so is the ceiling; they can only burn the roof—I do not think they can harm our persons. We have food enough to last for months, and there is no likelihood of the siege lasting a single week.” “I’ll make sure of the deer,” muttered Joe; and before any one could interpose, he struck off the head of the doe with an axe, as it still lay bound upon the sled. And he was brandishing the reeking steel over the neck of the fawn, that stood by, looking on innocently, when a cry from Mary arrested the blow. “If you injure a hair of Mary’s gift,” said Glenn, in anger, “you shall suffer as severe a fate yourself.” “Pardon me,” said Joe to Mary; “I was excited—I didn’t hardly know what I was doing. I thought as we were going to be pent up by the Indians, for goodness only knows how long, that we’d better provide enough food to keep from starving. I love the fawn as well as you do, and Mr. Glenn loves it because you gave it to him; but its natural to prefer our own lives to the lives of dumb animals.” “I forgive you,” said Mary, playing with the silken ears of the pet. “Say no more about it,” said Glenn; “but as you are so anxious to be well provided with comforts, if we are besieged, there is one thing I had forgotten, that is absolutely necessary for our existence, which you can procure.” “What is it? Be quick, for we havn’t a moment to lose,” said Joe. “Water,” replied Glenn. “That’s a fact—but—its way off at the spring, by the ferry,” said Joe, disliking the idea of exposing himself without the inclosure. “True, yet it must be had. If you can get it nearer to us, you are at liberty to do so,” said Glenn. “Here comes Sneak,” said Mary; “he will assist you.” Sneak readily agreed to the proposition, and he and Joe set out, each with a large bucket, while the rest of the party, with the exception of Boone (who desired to be left alone,) retired within the house. When Sneak and Joe were filling their buckets at the spring the second time, the hounds (which attended them at Joe’s special request) commenced barking. “What’s that?” cried Joe, dashing his bucket, water and all, in Sneak’s lap, and running ten or fifteen feet up the hill. “Dod rot your cowardly heart!” exclaimed Sneak, rising up and shaking the cold water from his clothes; “if I don’t pay you for this, I wish I may be shot!”