"If they say anything to me I'll tell 'em what happened under Braddock," returned Dave. "And they can take it as they please."
Barringford counseled moderation, but secretly he was as much put out as the boys even though some of the English were his warm friends. He had come near to having a quarrel with an English lieutenant named Naster and he was still much disturbed over this.
That very night Dave, while on picket duty, heard Lieutenant Naster finding fault with an old ranger named Campwell. Campwell was a pioneer over sixty-five years of age, and while a good shot and a good fighter was at times not just right in his mind, although he could by no means be called crazy. The pair came close to where Dave was on guard and the young soldier heard the lieutenant poke all manner of fun at the old man.
"Better go home and mind the babies, Campwell," said the English lieutenant. "It's more in your line of duty, isn't it now?"
"Let me alone!" cried the old man. "If I was to mind babies I'd not mind such a one as you, I'll warrant. 'T would have been better had you remained in England."
"Ha! so you call me a baby?" roared Lieutenant Naster, sourly. "If I am, how do you like that from me?" And he gave the old pioneer a shove that sent him headlong over the roots of a nearby tree.
The action was so cowardly, and so entirely uncalled for, that it made Dave's temper rise on the instant, and regardless of consequences he leaped to where Lieutenant Naster was standing and caught him by the shoulder.
"Leave him alone, you brute!" he ejaculated. "How dare you treat an old man like that?"
In sudden fear the English lieutenant wheeled around. When he saw it was only a boy who had spoken, and a hated provincial at that, his rage returned.
"What do you mean by placing your dirty hand on me!" he roared. "I'll have you arrested on the spot! This to me—an officer of the King's Guard! Preposterous!"