"Impossible! It is only half-past seven."
"But my watch and the watches of your staff—"
"Are regulated by my kitchen clock, that has been in my family for years. Enough! It is only half-past seven."
The officer retired; the boot-black had finished one boot. Another officer appeared.
"Instead of attacking the enemy, General, we are attacked ourselves. Our pickets are already driven in."
"Military pickets should not differ from other pickets," interrupted the boot-black, modestly. "To stand firmly they should be well driven in."
"Ha! there is something in that," said the General, thoughtfully. "But who are you, who speak thus?"
Rising to his full height, the boot-black threw off his outer rags, and revealed the figure of the Boy Chief of the "Pigeon Feet."
"Treason!" shrieked the General; "order an advance along the whole line."
But in vain. The next moment he fell beneath the tomahawk of the Boy Chief, and within the next quarter of an hour the United States Army was dispersed. Thus ended the battle of Boot-black Creek.