," said he. "I
am going to Leavenworth to see Eugene Hathaway. I shall stay with him
to-night."

We, pitied Will--he and mother had been so much to each other--and
raised no objection, as we should have done had we known the real
purpose of his visit.

The next morning, therefore, we were much surprised to see him and
Eugene ride into the yard, both clothed in, the blue uniforms of United
States soldiers. Overwhelmed with grief over mother's death, it seemed
more than we could bear to see our big brother ride off to war. We
threatened to inform the recruiting officers that he was not yet
eighteen; but he was too thoroughly in earnest to be moved by our
objections. The regiment in which he had enlisted was already ordered to
the front, and he had come home to say good by. He then rode away to
the hardships, dangers, and privations of a soldier's life. The joy of
action balanced the account for him, while we were obliged to accept the
usual lot of girlhood and womanhood--the weary, anxious waiting, when
the heart is torn with uncertainty and suspense over the fate of the
loved ones who bear the brunt and burden of the day.

The order sending Will's regiment to the front was countermanded, and
he remained for a time in Fort Leavenworth. His Western experiences were
well known there, and probably for this reason he was selected as
a bearer of military dispatches to Fort Larned. Some of our old
pro-slavery enemies, who were upon the point of joining the Confederate
army, learned of Will's mission, which they thought afforded them an
excellent chance to gratify their ancient grudge against the father by
murdering the son. The killing could be justified on the plea of service
rendered to their cause. Accordingly a plan was made to waylay Will and
capture his dispatches at a creek he was obliged to ford.

He received warning of this plot. On such a mission the utmost vigilance
was demanded at all times, and with an ambuscade ahead of him, he was
alertness itself. His knowledge of Indian warfare stood him in good
stead now. Not a tree, rock, or hillock escaped his keen glance. When he
neared the creek at which the attack was expected, he left the road, and
attempted to ford the stream four or five hundred yards above the common
crossing, but found it so swollen by recent rains that he was unable to
cross; so he cautiously picked his way back to the trail.

The assassins' camp was two or three hundred feet away from the cree