“Is that so! We saw the boat but we didn’t sight you. We swam and waded to the high bank——”
“I landed on the other side; the low side,” explained Ernest. “Quite a way down, though. I couldn’t get out from under the boat, at first.”
“Lucky you did get out,” said the lieutenant, soberly. “We never thought of that. Well, we searched along the bank, the best we could; then we told some Indians to keep a watch-out for you, and borrowed some horses from them and rode on to the fort. Got here about midnight.”
“My uncle isn’t here any more, Mr. Houston says,” faltered Ernest, his spirits dropping.
“No, he isn’t, Ernest,” admitted the lieutenant. “He’s been gone about two weeks. But never mind. You’ll be cared for. Now let’s speak with General Houston a minute.”
General Houston, as the lieutenant had entitled him, was sitting with dignified patience on his bob-tailed pony, as if waiting for recognition. Followed by Ernest, the lieutenant and the Texan stepped over to him.
“I am Lieutenant Neal, sir,” addressed the lieutenant. “If I mistake not, I have the honor of addressing General Houston.”
“The same, sir,” bowed the general.
“Allow me to present Mr. Carroll, recently from Texas. You have done a great service, sir, in restoring to his friends this boy, with whom I travelled from the Mississippi River, and who I feared had been lost by an untimely accident.”
“It is one of the few pleasures of my life, sir,” responded the general. “I have informed him that Sergeant John Andrews, his uncle, is no longer stationed at Fort Gibson. Does the further disposal of the boy rest with you or with me?”