They had no difficulty in passing the guard stationed beside the road where it entered the edge of the post. Billy seemed to be a familiar figure here. He led the way to a large building that looked like a warehouse, where several freight wagons were standing and where soldiers and civilians were trudging about, as if loading freight.
At the end of the platform Billy slipped off his horse, and tied him; Dave did likewise.
“Come on,” bade Billy. “There’s Mr. Russell now. That sandy little man talking with the officer. We’ll hail him when we get the chance.”
They lingered a few minutes, while Billy edged closer, waiting to be recognized. Davy followed him about anxiously. Presently Mr. Russell caught sight of Billy, and smiled and nodded. The officer turned away, and Billy sprang forward to seize the opportunity.
“How are you, Billy,” greeted Mr. Russell. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve brought my friend Dave Scott over, Mr. Russell,” informed Billy. “He’s the boy I spoke about. He’d like a job, if you can give it to him.”
Mr. Russell eyed Dave up and down. A small man was Mr. Russell. He had a freckled complexion, a rather dried-up appearance, and an abrupt manner; and he was as keen as tacks. He did not seem to be a man who could handle rough teamsters; but evidently he could. Davy tried to stand his gaze, and not to be embarrassed.
“What can you do?”
“He’ll tackle anything.”