“Of course they will, and we have a lot of dunderheads who will do their best to force it on. With your permission, Mr. Wescott, I will stay here to-night, if you will let the men sleep in your barn.”
“Certainly; if the house were large enough they should be welcome to that.”
The command of Melton was an independent one, composed principally of bordermen and scouts, selected for their known valor and knowledge of the country. As usual in such cases they were despised by the dandy regiments until two or three rough bouts between the men had taught them a lesson. They were very popular with the masses, however, and in a bush fight, were capable of doing more work than any body of men in the service.
Two or three couriers were dispatched in various directions, and then the party camped outside, while the captain entered the house, where he was received by Mrs. Wescott and the daughter. The elder lady had just returned from a visit down the river.
“This is Charley Melton, my prince of borderers, the best scout captain in the territories,” said Wescott. “Captain, my daughter Sadie.”
“I met Miss Wescott early in the evening when in chase of a desperate gambler who had shot a man over a card-table. And indeed we met twice in the village.”
“I hope you caught him, captain,” said Wescott.
“Sorry to say I did not. How the fellow managed to slip away I don’t know, but when we got to the bend, all trace of them was lost. He had a man in his company whom I want to see, for I believe he is stirring up the Indians against us.”
“You mean Black Will Jackwood, I’ll bet,” said Joe Bent.
“Yes; what made you think that?”