All this while the face at the window was intently regarding them. Picking loose the putty from one of the window-panes with his fingers, Sim took the glass softly out, as the old woman and girl prepared to leave the room, and the two men drew close together, and began their conversation. Thus, with his ear close to the opening, he listened to all that passed.
“So you can’t understand what brings me here,” Butler said, sipping his rum. “You see, I’ve doffed my regimentals,” he added, pointing to the hunter’s frock which he wore, “and am ready for any kind of work.”
“I wouldn’t ’a’ known you, I do believe, cap’n. Wal, fine feathers do make fine birds, and no mistake. You look like one of us now.”
“Wesson is in command of Fort Dayton, isn’t he?” Butler asked.
“Yes, and keeping a sharp look-out. You don’t mean to attack him, do you?”
“No; but before morning I intend to sack old Davis’s house—he’s got some papers of Sir John Johnson’s that we must have, and we may as well take his useless life along with them.”
“Wal, I guess the neighborhood can spare him,” said the farmer, indifferently. “He’s one of the worst rebels in the district. Jest set fire to his haystacks while you’re about it—I’d like to see ’em burn.”
“His house isn’t near the fort, is it?”
“No; it’s on the other road, and stands as much alone as mine does; you won’t have any difficulty about settling his hash.”
“I’ll have the papers, if I murder and burn the whole settlement!” exclaimed Butler, with an oath.