“Who would be your choice?” asked Alden, entering into the spirit of the moment.
“Jethro, as you call him; of course he’s the most valuable.”
“Dunno ’bout dat,” said the African with dignity; “de wimmin folks and de children will blubber so hard when dey find I think ob leabin’ dem dat Shagbark won’t be likely to allow it; howsumeber, I’ll think it ober.”
“Thank you; you are very kind.”
During the conversation, which continued for several minutes longer, with nothing of moment said, the youth who accompanied the elder caller did not speak a word. He seemed to be peering from under his hat at Alden, as if studying him.
“Well,” said the man, “we shall ride back to camp now and doubtless shall soon see you again. I need not assure you that you and your friends will be welcome at all times. My name is Garret Chadwick, and I have charge of the other company. My friend here is my nephew, Ross Brandley.”
“Very glad to have met you. I am Alden Payne, and I am on my way from St. Joe to join my father, who left for California some months ago.”
As Alden spoke he made a military salute to the two. The elder returned it, but his companion slightly nodded without speaking or saluting. The two then wheeled their animals and rode off at a walk.
The incident showed there was nothing to be feared from hostiles for some time to come. Alden, therefore, did not scruple to linger for a few minutes with his sable friend.
“Jeth, there was something familiar in that man’s voice.”