With his feet on the floor, Peter paused, to stare. He saw a pale, clammy countenance gazing at him from the blanket coverings—and at that instant the door opened, and before Peter might so much as stir, the chief with the red hair entered. Peter was fairly caught. He drew breath sharply, and resolved not to show fear.
The chief with the red hair was all in buckskin, and wore moccasins on his feet, and on his head a round hat with the brim looped up in front. His face was without hair and was very tanned, so that it was reddish brown instead of white, and his two eyes were clear, keen gray. His hair was bound behind in a long bag of thin skin. He had rather a large nose, and a round chin; and was heavy.
“Well!” he uttered. He glanced swiftly from Peter to the sick man’s bunk, and back again to Peter. “What’s this?”
“He stole down from above, Captain,” said the sick man.
“How are you, Sergeant? Any better?”
“No, sir. I’m awful weak, sir.”
“Much pain?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been suffering terribly.”
“I’m sorry, my man. We’ll do all we can for you.” Now the chief spoke to Peter. “Who are you? How’d you come here?” His voice was stern and quick.