“That’s a good start on perch,” observed Henry, with a smile. “And to my mind they are just as good to eat as trout, even if they are not so gamey.”
After this both fell to fishing with all the skill at their command, Dave remaining at the spot where he had made his first haul and Henry seeking a point a few rods farther up the shore.
Although both of the young soldiers felt that no enemy was in the immediate vicinity, yet they took care to keep in sight of each other and kept a constant watch on the forest behind them. Each had brought along his trusty flint-lock musket, and the weapons, loaded and primed, were kept easy to hand.
“Do you think Sam Barringford has reached home with Nell yet?” asked Dave, as Henry came toward him to get more bait.
“Hardly yet, Dave; but he ought to get there by the end of the week.”
“She’ll be glad to get back, won’t she? And how glad all of them will be to see her!”
“Yes, indeed!” Henry’s eyes brightened at the thought. “Do you know, it’s a wonder to me that she didn’t die of fright when she was in the clutches of those dirty redskins and that mean, miserable Jean Bevoir,” he went on.
“Bevoir pretends to be in an awfully bad condition, so one of the hospital surgeons told me. I reckon he is afraid of standing trial.”
“To be sure. He’ll stay in the hospital till they kick him out.” Henry gave a grave shake of his head. “He ought to be hung; but I suppose they won’t go as far as that.”
“It isn’t likely.”