We all laughed, for we loved him none the less.  His little blue eyes were perfectly solemn as he answered:—­

“Ve send you fight Injuns mit your tongue, Mrs. Cowan.  Then we haf no more troubles.”

“Land of Canaan!” cried she, “I reckon I could do more harm with it than you with a gun.”

There were many such false alarms in the bright days following, and never a bullet sped from the shadow of the forest.  Each day we went farther afield, and each night trooped merrily in through the gates with hopes of homes and clearings rising in our hearts—­until the motionless figure of the young Virginian met our eye.  It was then that men began to scoff at him behind his back, though some spoke with sufficient backwoods bluntness to his face.  And yet he gave no sign of anger or impatience.  Not so the other leaders.  No sooner did the danger seem past than bitter strife sprang up within the walls.  Even the two captains were mortal enemies.  One was Harrod, a tall, spare, dark-haired man of great endurance,—­a type of the best that conquered the land for the nation; the other, that Hugh McGary of whom I have spoken, coarse and brutal, if you like, but fearless and a leader of men withal.

A certain Sunday morning, I remember, broke with a cloud-flecked sky, and as we were preparing to go afield with such ploughs as could be got together (we were to sow turnips) the loud sounds of a quarrel came from the elm at the spring.  With one accord men and women and children flocked thither, and as we ran we heard McGary’s voice above the rest.  Worming my way, boylike, through the crowd, I came upon McGary and Harrod glaring at each other in the centre of it.

“By Job! there’s no devil if I’ll stand back from my clearing and waste the rest of the summer for the fears of a pack of cowards.  I’ll take a posse and march to Shawanee Springs this day, and see any man a fair fight that tries to stop me.”

“And who’s in command here?” demanded Harrod.

“I am, for one,” said McGary, with an oath, “and my corn’s on the ear.  I’ve held back long enough, I tell you, and I’ll starve this winter for you nor any one else.”

Harrod turned.

“Where’s Clark?” he said to Bowman.

“Clark!” roared McGary, “Clark be d—­d.  Ye’d think he was a woman.”  He strode up to Harrod until their faces almost touched, and his voice shook with the intensity of his anger.  “By G—­d, you nor Clark nor any one else will stop me, I say!” He swung around and faced the people.  “Come on, boys!  We’ll fetch that corn, or know the reason why.”