"Why, to tell the truth," said he, "I was feeling sober enough myself till I came in here, but the sight of you fellows sitting around for all the world like death-heads at an Egyptian feast was too much for me. And then," he added, "I have always found it better to laugh than to cry."
Waggoner looked at him with a grim smile, and there was a gleam in Spiltdorph's eyes, though he tried to conceal himself behind a cloud of smoke. Peyronie's good humor was infectious.
"Let me see," continued the Frenchman, "when was it the first detachment left the fort?"
"The twenty-ninth of May," answered Waggoner shortly.
"And what day is this?"
"The eleventh of June."
"And how far have we come?"
"Five miles!" cried Waggoner. "Damn it, man, you know all this well enough! Don't make me say it! It's incredible! Five miles in thirteen days! Think of it!"
I heard Spiltdorph choking behind his cloud of smoke.
"Oh, come," said Peyronie, "that's not the way to look at it. Consider a moment. It is one hundred and fifty miles to Fort Duquesne, so I am told. At five-thirteenths of a mile a day, we shall arrive there nicely in—in—let me see."