“Will you keep them back?” he said to Daniel Poe.  “I must speak to you where none of those can hear.”

Daniel Poe waved away the crowd, and then took a step forward.

“We have come,” said Henry Ware, in low, intense tones, “to warn you that you are going to be attacked by a great force of warriors, furnished by the league of the northwestern tribes.  They mean that you shall never reach Wareville or Marlowe, to double the strength of those settlements.  They would have laid an ambush for you, but we have been among them and we know their plans.”

A shiver ran through the stalwart frame of Daniel Poe—­a shiver of apprehension, not for himself, but for the five hundred human lives intrusted to his care.  Then he steadied himself.

“We can fight,” he said, “and I thank you for your warning; I cannot doubt its truth.”

“We will stay with you,” said Henry Ware.  “We know the signs of the forest, and we can help in the battle that is sure to come, and also before and after.”

His voice was full of confidence and courage, and it sent an electric thrill through the veins of Daniel Poe.  Henry Ware was one of those extraordinary human beings whose very presence seems to communicate strength to others.

“We’ll beat ’em off,” said Daniel Poe sanguinely.

“Yes, we’ll beat ’em off,” said Henry Ware.  Then he continued:  “You must tell all the men, and of course the women and children will hear of if, but it’s best to let the news spread gradually.”

Daniel Poe went back with the messengers to the wagons, and soon it was known to everybody that the Indians were laying an ambush for them all.  Some wails broke forth from the women, but they were quickly suppressed, and all labored together to put the camp in posture of defense.  The strangers were among them, cheering them, and predicting victory if battle should come.  Paul, in particular, quickly endeared himself to them.  He was so hearty, so full of jests, and he quoted all sorts of scraps of old history bearing particularly upon their case, and showing that they must win if attacked.

“There was a race of very valiant people living a very long, long time ago,” he said, “who always made their armies intrench at night.  Nobody could take a Roman camp, and we’ve got to imitate those old fellows.”

Under the guidance of Paul and his friends, the Roman principle was followed, at least in part.  The wagons were drawn up in a great circle in an open space, where they could not be reached by a rifle shot from the trees, and then more than two hundred men, using pick and spade, speedily threw up an earthwork three feet high that inclosed the wagons.  Henry Ware regarded it with the greatest satisfaction.

“I don’t know any Indian force,” he said, “that will rush such a barrier in the face of two or three hundred rifles.  Now, Mr. Poe, you post guards at convenient intervals, and the rest of you can take it easy inside.”