“When he whipped Corn-planter at the head of the Shawnees, Mingoes and Wyandots in the Battle of Point Pleasant?”
“Yes,” again replied the old man; “I commanded a division under Lewis in that fight.”
“No one knows that better than myself,” said the stranger, with a peculiar smile. “I served under you.”
“Ah, were you in the battle of Point Pleasant?”
“No.”
“How was that?” asked Treveling, in astonishment; “my division was in the hottest of the fight.”
“I left your command before the battle took place.”
“It is strange that I do not remember of ever hearing your name before, but your face certainly is familiar. Well, sir, as an old comrade in arms, I am glad to meet you. You are welcome, sir, to make my house your home while you remain at the station. I can give you an old Virginia welcome, though I am afraid that I can not play the part of the host so well as I ought to, for I am suffering now, sir, under an affliction that has sorely tried me.” And the old soldier heaved a deep sigh as he spoke.
“You refer to the loss of your daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”