“And now that’s enough,” said Paul at last.  “You must all go to sleep, as you are to start on your journey again early in the morning.  Now, off with you, every one of you!”

He rose, despite their protests, this prince of story tellers, and, bidding them good-night, strolled with affected carelessness outside the circle of wagons.  The night was dark, like the one preceding, but the riflemen were on guard within the shadows of the wagons.

“Do you see anything?” Paul asked of one.

“Nothing but the forest,” he replied.

Paul strolled farther, and saw a dark figure among the trees.  As he approached he recognized Shif’less Sol.

“Any news, Sol?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the shiftless one, “we’ve crossed trails of bands three times, but the main force ain’t come up yet.  I guess it means to wait a little, Paul.  I’m awful glad we’ve come to help out these poor women an’ children.”

“So am I,” said Paul, glancing at the black forest.  “They’ve got to go through a terrible thing, Sol.”

“Yes, an’ it’s comin’ fast,” said the shiftless one.

But nothing happened that night, at least so far as the camp was concerned.  The sentinels walked up and down outside, and were not disturbed.  The women and children slept peacefully in the wagons, or in their blankets before the fires, and the clear dawn came, silver at first and then gold under a sky of blue.

The “eyes” of the train had come in as before, and taken their nap, and now were up and watching once more.  Breakfast over, the drivers swung their whips, called cheerfully to their horses, and the wagons, again in three close files, resumed the march.

“We’ll strike the ford about noon to-day,” said Dick Salter to Daniel Poe.

“I wish we were safely on the other side,” said Daniel Poe, in the exact words of the day before.

“So do I,” repeated Dick Salter.

The wagons moved forward undisturbed, their wheels rolling easily over the soft turf, and some of the women, forgetting their alarms, softly sang songs of their old homes in the East.  The children, eager to see everything in this mighty, unknown land, called to each other; but all the time, as they marched through the pleasant greenwood, danger was coming closer and closer.

CHAPTER XX

THE TERRIBLE FORD

“The ford ain’t much more than an hour’s march farther on,” said Dick Salter to Daniel Poe, “an’ the way to it leads over purty smooth groun’.”

“And we have not seen anything of the warriors yet, except the trails of small bands,” said Daniel Poe hopefully.  “It may be that our new friends are mistaken.”

Dick Salter shook his head.

“Tom Ross never makes a mistake in matters uv that kind,” he said, “an’ that boy, Henry Ware, couldn’t ef he tried.  He’s wonderful, Mr. Poe.”