any that
he can put me in, haven't you?" asked Sam. "There's the root fortress
within ten feet of us. You haven't forgotten it have you?"

"No," said Tom, rising to go, "and I don't think I shall forget it
soon; but I don't like to let my 'Big Brother' sleep here alone with
Jake Elliott around."

"Never mind me, I tell you, but go to the boys and go to sleep. I'll
take care of myself."

With that the two boys separated, Tom walking away to the fire, and
Sam rolling himself up in his blanket for a quiet sleep. He had
already removed his boots, coat and hat, and thrown them together in a
pile, as he had done every night since the march began, partly
because he knew that it is always better to sleep with the limbs as
free as possible from pressure of any kind, and partly because he
suffered a little from an old wound in the foot, received about a year
before in the Indian assault upon Fort Sinquefield, and found it more
comfortable, after walking all day, to remove his boots.

The camp grew quiet only by degrees. Boys have so many things to talk
about that when they are together they are pretty certain to talk a
good while before going to sleep, and especially so when they are
lying in the open air, under the starlight, near a pile of blazing
logs. They all stretched themselves out on the ground, weary with
their day's march, and determined to go at once to sleep, but somehow
each one found something that he wanted to say and so it was more than
an hour before the camp was quite still. Then every one slept except
Jake Elliott. He lay quietly by a tree, and seemed to be sleeping
soundly enough, but in fact he was not even dozing. He was laying
plans. He had a grudge against Sam Hardwicke, as we know, and was
very busily thinking what he could do by way of revenge. He meant to
do it at night, whatever it might be, because he was afraid to attempt
any thing openly, which would bring on a conflict with Sam, of whom he
was very heartily afraid. He was ready to do any thing that would
annoy Sam, however mean it might be, for he was a coward seeking
revenge, and cowardice is so mean a thing itself, that it always keeps
the meanest kind of company in the breasts of boys or men who harbor
it. Boys are apt to make mistakes about cowardice, however, and men
too for that matter, confounding it with timidity and nervousness, and
imagining that the ability to face unknown danger boldly is courage.
There could be no greater mistake