The old maid rode on up towards the river, and as she reached the turn of the highway, leading to Forty Fort she spied, in advance of her, a troop of soldiers on horseback and on foot, proceeding towards the fort.
“What on airth!” exclaimed Aunt Polly, urging General Washington on; “what are they about?”
She rode without hesitation towards the little band, and discovering an acquaintance in the leader, called out:
“Why, Captain Slocum, what’s up now?”
“Nothing very important, Miss Carter,” he replied. “There were some men shot at Fort Jenkins last night, and Walter Butler, with a troop of Injuns, is in the valley. We must be on our guard.”
“Aint a-going to have a fight to-day, are we?”
“I can’t tell; it may come any minute.”
“Wal, do your duty, Captain Slocum; do your duty!” said Aunt Polly, assuming the tone in which she had heard revolutionary speeches delivered. “Wyoming expects every man of ye to stand up to the mark—take care of the widows, the orphans, and perticlarly of such young females as haven’t yet secured their natral protectors.”
“We will do our best, Miss Carter,” returned the captain, concealing a smile, and glancing reprovingly towards his men, who looked more amused than moved by Aunt Polly’s eloquence.
“I know you will; I can trust you, captain,” replied the old maid, approvingly, as if she felt that a great responsibility rested upon her shoulders. “If you want a hoss, captain, send for Gin’ral Washington, you’re welcome to him; the old feller has stood fire too many training days to be afraid of Tories or Injuns ither.”