“The ammunition you brought, of course.”
“I ain’t brought no ammunition. Those durned Injun agents are always fussing about honest traders, and I got by Colonel Johnson’s deputy at Piqua by saying that I had ammunition. But I ain’t got a bit. I ain’t got nothing but whiskey and trade goods. This young know-it-all, he hears what I says to the agent, and he takes it on himself to escort the ammunition and I lets him do it.”
A roar of laughter went up from the crowd. Aristocrats were not popular on the frontier and Jack was plainly an aristocrat. Besides, Williams was a friend and the crowd was very willing to follow his lead.
Jack flushed hotly as he realized how completely he had been humbugged. He tried to speak, but his voice was drowned by jeers.
Mr. Hibbs, however, neither laughed nor jeered. The failure to get ammunition seemed to strike him hard. Furiously he swung round on Jack.
But before he could speak Williams thrust in. “I got those things you wanted, lieutenant,” he said. “But he’s taken charge of ’em.” He jerked his thumb toward Jack. “Maybe he’ll give ’em to you if you go down on your knees and ask for ’em pretty.”
Mr. Hibbs found his voice. “What the devil does this mean?” he demanded. “You, sir, I mean.” He glared at Jack. “I’m talking to you. What have you got to do with this thing, anyway?”
Jack refused to be stampeded. He was horribly abashed by the fiasco of the ammunition, and he saw that no explanation that he could make was likely to be well received. “I’d rather wait and go into things privately, lieutenant,” he demurred.
“Privately! H—l! You go ahead and be d— quick about it!”
Before Jack could speak a tall, thin man, who had been watching the scene with growing disgust, stepped forward hurriedly. “I think the young man is right, Mr. Hibbs,” he said. “It seems to me that it would be much better to talk in private.” He turned to Jack. “I am Major Stickney, the Indian agent here, Mr. Telfair,” he said.