pectacles of any kind," said Gregory Wilmot. "The red men hold
their cordon, and in time our food must become exhausted."

"That is so," said the Major. "Some of the women have given up already,
and look upon themselves as dead."

"We are not lost," said the scout. "He'll come, that boy, Henry Ware,
will. He's only a boy, Major, but he's got a soul like that of the great
chief, Timmendiquas. He'll come with the fleet."

Major Braithwaite wished to believe, but it was hard to do it. How could
anything come out of that darkness and storm and through the Indian
host? A soldier, he recognized the mental grasp and energy of
Timmendiquas and the thoroughness of the leaguer of both fort and river.
He left the bastion presently and went into one of the log cabins where
some of the wounded men lay. He made it a point to visit them and cheer
them whenever he could, and he would not neglect it to-night. He spent a
half hour with them and then he returned to the bastion.

"What have you seen?" he asked.

"Nothing but the river and the woods and much lightning," replied
Gregory Wilmot.

"Nor heard anything?"

"Only the thunder and the wind."

"I am weary of both. Surely they cannot last much longer."

Neither Gregory Wilmot nor the scout replied. Both were soaked with
water, but they had forgotten it, and none of the three spoke again for
at least ten minutes. Then Major Braithwaite, whose eyes had roved from
the river, saw the scout lean forward and press himself against the
wooden crest of the bastion. It was as if a sudden quiver had run
through him, but his ear was toward the river and he leaned still
further forward as if he would get yet nearer to hear. It was only by a
flash of lightning that the Major saw this, but it was enough to arouse
his interest.

"What is it? Do you hear anything?" he asked.

The lightning flashed again, and the scout raised his hand.

"I don't know yet whether I've heard anything but the thunder an' the
wind," he replied, "but I seemed to hear somethin'. It wuz fur away, an'
it growled low and threatenin' like thunder. An' it wuzn't eggzackly
like thunder, either. I don't quite seem to make it out. Hark! thar she
goes ag'in!"

Major Braithwaite and Gregory Wilmot also leaned forward eagerly, but
they could hear only the fiendish shrieking of the wind and the sullen
mutter of certain thunder.

"You believe you heard a sound that was neither the thunder nor the
wind?" said the Major.