“Why, where do you come from?”
“From Seneca Lake, where the Shawnees have made their headquarters most of the time for the past year. The old queen don’t lead off as she used to, but she’s out again now.”
“But what brings you to this place—what on earth do you expect to do here?”
“Give us some supper before you ask me to open my mouth; I am fairly worn out.”
“Hurry up, old woman!” said Shoemaker. “While she’s about it, captain, here’s what’ll set you all right,” he continued, producing from a cupboard a bottle of rum and a couple of tin cups.
Butler poured out a quantity of the spirits, and drank it off at a swallow.
“That has the right flavor,” he said, wiping his lips; “we haven’t had a drop since yesterday.”
In the meantime the farmer’s wife had been busy frying a large platter of ham and pork, and, assisted by her daughter, began spreading a homespun cloth upon the table, to prepare Butler’s meal. A liberal portion of this savory food was carried to the men above stairs; and when all was ready, Butler seated himself before the table, with the keen appetite of a man who had not tasted food for twelve hours.
“Fall to, captain,” said Shoemaker, pushing the bread and butter within his reach; “the victuals arn’t handsome much, but I guess you’ll find ’em good, especially after a long fast.”
Butler’s appetite proved that hunger had given a keen relish to the humble fare, and the farmer smoked his pipe in silence, until his guest pushed back his plate, and filled his glass again from the bottle of spirits.