Dan Casey nodded vigorously. "Sure an' we'd be after puttin' a ball through ivery mother's son of 'em, so we would! Poor Ben Russell! I loiked him loike a brother!" And the honest Irish sharp-shooter heaved a long sigh.
Both Casey and Stummer had been having easy times of it for several weeks, but now they were called upon to go forth with pick and shovel, to do their share of work in digging intrenchments. This was not so nice, but they went at the labor without a murmur.
"Sure an' we might as well git into practice," observed Casey, as he started in with vigor. "Whin the war's over an' we git back to the States, it may be ourselves as will be workin' fer the corporation in New York or ilsewhere!"
"Yah, udder puttin' town railroad dracks alretty in der Vest," answered Carl Stummer. "Dot is," he added, "of I ton't got money enough to puy a farm."
"'Tis a stock farm I'm wantin'," came from Casey. "Wid horses galore. There's money for ye, Carl!" And he went to work with added vigor—as if he expected to turn up the stock farm from the soil beneath him.
To Gilbert, even though he occasionally saw Stummer and Casey, the days were very lonely. He missed Ben greatly, and each day wondered if he would ever see his old war chum again. Major Okopa saw this and did what he could to cheer up the young officer.
"He may turn up before you realize it," said the major. "I don't think he was killed."
"If he is alive, it is very strange that we do not hear from him."
Two days later came a batch of letters into camp, written, or rather painted, for the most part, on thin Japanese paper. Among the communications were two for Gilbert, one from Captain Ponsberry concerning the Columbia and her cargo, and the other from a stranger in Pekin, China.
"Who can be writing to me from Pekin, China?" mused the young captain, and began to read the communication with interest. It was from a Chinese merchant, and ran in part as follows: