“Ammunition!” The officer’s manner changed. He drew his breath with a long sobbing gasp. “Ammunition. We need it bad enough. Thank God you’ve come. General Hull sent you with it?”
“Not exactly. He sent it by two wagoners, but one of them”—Jack dropped his voice—“murdered an Indian and I had to arrest him and take charge of the wagon. I——”
“Murdered an Indian! Arrest him! Good God!” Mr. Hibbs was staring at the wagon, which was just appearing through the gates. “Who’s that?” he demanded. “Damnation! It’s Williams! You don’t mean you’ve arrested Williams!” He threw up his hand. “Hey! Williams!” he shouted. “Come here!”
Williams jumped from the box and came forward.
Jack did not wait. “I had to arrest him,” he declared. “I’ll be only too glad to explain all the circumstances if I can see you privately.” He cast a glance around the listening throng. “It seems hardly wise to speak too freely here——” He stopped, for Mr. Hibbs had brushed by him and had gone forward to meet the wagoner.
“Hello! Williams!” he hiccoughed. “You back? Where’s Wolf?”
The company that had been drilling had been dismissed and the men came running up. Plainly they were anxious to learn what news the newcomers might have brought. Most of them waved their hands to Williams as they drew near, though they did not venture to break in on his talk with their officer.
Williams paid little attention to them. He was choking with anger. “Wolf’s dead,” he rasped. “Killed by a dog of a Shawnee. I guess you’d better ask that young squirt about it.” He jerked his head toward Jack. “He’s running this expedition.”
Mr. Hibbs’s brow darkened. He glanced at Jack doubtfully. “Did General Hull put him in charge of the ammunition?” he asked.
“Ammunition? What ammunition?” Williams snarled scornfully.