To the hearty fit of laughing of O'Flaherty, Malone replied by a look of drunken defiance, and then nodded to his red friend, who returned the courtesy. As poor Tom left the room, he saw that nothing was to be hoped for in this quarter, and determined to beat the garrison to arms without any further delay. Scarcely had he closed the door behind him, when a sudden thought flashed through his brain. He hesitated, walked forward a few paces, stopped again, and calling out to the corporal, said—
"You are certain they were militia?"
"Yes, sir; quite sure."
"Then, by Jove, I have it," cried O'Flaherty. "If they should turn out to be the Buffalo fencibles, we may get through this scrape better than I hoped for."
"I believe you are right, sir; for I heard one of the men as I passed observe, 'what will they say in Buffalo when it's over?'."
"Send Mathers here, corporal; and do you order four rank and file, with side-arms to be in readiness immediately."
"Mathers, you have heard the news," said O'Flaherty, as the sergeant entered. "Can the Fort hold out against such a force as Jackson reports? You doubt; well, so do I; so let's see what's to be done. Can you remember, was it not the Buffalo militia that were so tremendously thrashed by the Delawares last autumn?"
"Yes, sir, they chased them for two days and nights, and had they not reached the town of Buffalo, the Delawares would not have left a scalp in the regiment."
"Can you recollect the chief's name—it was Carran—something, eh?"
"Caudan-dacwagae."