Stub might catch only a word now and then; the men listened, puzzled, prepared to grasp their stacked guns.
The lieutenant finished the conversation. The Frenchmen bowed politely again, he saluted them and spoke to his party.
“These are two Frenchmen from Santa Fe, lads,” he said. “They inform me that the governor of New Mexico is fearful of an attack upon us by the Utah Indians, and has sent a detachment of fifty dragoons for our protection. The detachment is within two days’ march of us. You know your duty. I rely upon you to act in a manner that will reflect credit upon our Country.”
Scarcely had he spoken when they all heard the sentinels outside hailing loudly, with “Halt! Who comes there? Corp’ral of the guar-rd! Post Number One!”
Out dived Corporal Jerry, once more.
“To arms! Man the works, men!” the lieutenant rapped.
They grabbed guns and hustled for the platforms under the loopholes. There were more loopholes than men. Peeping through his, Stub might see out into the prairie before the stockade. From up the fork a large body of mounted soldiers had ridden into the edge of the clearing. John Brown, who had come in from his hill, and Hugh Menaugh were holding them back, Corporal Jerry was hastening to the scene.
The lieutenant also had seen.
“That is the company?” he demanded, of the two Frenchmen.
“Oui, Monsieur Lieutenant.”