A horseman rode from down the line. It was the regimental surgeon, Dr. Coates—a jolly man, always eager for adventure.
“By thunder! Believe they’re all asleep yet,” he whispered, excited.
“What do you think, Guerrier?” queried the general, ill at ease.
“Can’t tell. Maybe,” answered the half-breed, peering from his pony.
“Well, we can go in and see. I’d like to know whether we’ve captured a deserted village, after all.”
“Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,” quoted the doctor, who was given to saying such things.
“Nothing very sweet about an Indian village, doctor,” retorted the general. “I’ll just take you along, to prove it. Tell the officers to have their troops wait at a ready, Moylan, while we take a nearer look. Come back at once. I want you with me.”
The adjutant quickly started the word down the circle, and returned.
“We’d better all go in,” bade the general, dismounting. “The bugler, too. I may need him. Leave your horses here.”