“Found your dad, eh? Well, well! An’ good! I want to know! That’s all right, then. We’ve been some worried over you, but sure we felt sartin you wouldn’t desert. Expect you’d rather have found your father than the Red River; hey?”
“I don’t know,” Stub stammered. “I wish we’d found both.”
His heart ached for Lieutenant Pike, who seemed to have found nothing—unless he really had intended to come here.
“We soldiers must not complain; we will only rejoice in your good fortune, my lad,” answered the lieutenant. “All in all, we did not toil in vain, and we have done what we could. Have the men ready to march at twelve o’clock, Stout.” And turning on his heel he strode off.
“A fine little man, an’ a smart one,” mused Freegift, gazing after. “We’ll go with him to Chihuahua—an’ to the ends o’ the earth, if need be.”
The lieutenant left first, shortly after noon. He had dined with the governor; when he came out of the palace, into the public square, prepared to start, the governor’s coach was waiting, attached to six gaily harnessed mules. A detachment of dragoons also were waiting; so were Stub and his father, and old Sergeant Colly who had been captured, six years ago, in Spanish territory.
They shook hands with the lieutenant.
“Good-by. Good-by, sir.”
“Good-by.” He held his head high, like an officer and a free American. He did not mind the stares of the town people. “Remember, you are Americans.”
“Don’t forget us, sir, when you reach the States,” old Solomon Colly implored. “Don’t forget Sergeant Colly of the army, who made his only mistake when he was trapped by these Spanish. You’ll do what you can for us, sir?”