“Don’t believe him, Mr. Glenn—I’ll be smashed if its any thing but my tooth,” said Sneak. “Oh—I’m dying!” continued Joe, pressing his hand against his head, while the pain and loss of blood actually produced a faintness, and his voice became very weak. “Are you really much hurt?” continued Glenn, stooping down, and feeling his pulse. “It’s all over!” muttered Joe. “I’m going fast. Sancte Petre!—Pater noster, qui es in coelis, sanctificeter nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tu—” Here Joe’s voice failed, and, falling into a syncope, Glenn and Sneak lifted him up and carried him into the house. “Is he shot?” exclaimed Mary, instantly producing some lint and bandages which she had prepared in anticipation of such an event. “I fear he has received a serious hurt,” said Glenn, aiding Mary, who had proceeded at once to bind up the wound. “I’ll be split if he’s shot!” said Sneak, going out and returning to his post. Glenn did likewise when he saw the first indications of returning consciousness in his man; and Mary was left alone to restore and nurse poor Joe. But he could not have been in better hands. “I should like to know something about them curious words the feller was speaking when he keeled over,” said Sneak, as he looked out at the now quiet scene from the loophole, and mused over the events of the night. “I begin to believe that the feller’s a going to die. I don’t believe any man could talk so, if he wasn’t dying.” “Have you seen any of them lately?” inquired Boone, coming to Sneak’s post and running his eye along the horizon through the loophole. “Not a one,” replied Sneak, “except that feller laying out yander by the snowball.” “He’s dead,” said Boone, “and he is the only one that we are sure of having killed to-night. But many are wounded.” “And smash me if Joe didn’t kill that one when his musket went off before he was ready,” said Sneak. “Yes, I saw him fall when Joe fired; and that accident was, after all, a fortunate thing for us,” continued Boone. “But I’m sorry for poor Joe,” said Sneak. “Pshaw!” said Boone; “he’ll be well again, in an hour.” “No, he’s a gone chicken.” “Why do you think so?” “Didn’t he say so himself? and didn’t he gabble out a whole parcel of purgatory talk? He’s as sure gone as a stuck pig, I tell you,” continued Sneak. “He will eat as hearty a breakfast to-morrow morning as ever he did in his life,” said Boone. “But let us attend to the business in hand. I hardly think we will be annoyed any more from this quarter, unless yonder dead Indian was a chief, and then it is more than probable they will try to steal him away. However, you may remain here. I, alone, can manage the others.” “Which others?” inquired Sneak. “Those under the snow,” replied Boone; “they are now within twenty paces of the palisade.” “You don’t say so?” said Sneak, cocking his gun. “I have been listening to them cutting through the snow a long while, and it will be a half hour yet before I spring the mine,” said Boone.