"But everybody gets out here," insisted Daggett peevishly. "You can't see Devil's Den unless you do. You must get out."
"All right," acquiesced Brant. "Perhaps we are not getting our money's worth."
He lifted himself ponderously down, and Davis followed him.
"I'll stay here," said Hayes. "I'll see that our driver don't run off. Were you a soldier?" he asked the old man.
"Yes," answered Daggett. "I was wounded in this battle. I wasn't old enough to go, but they took me as a substitute for another man. And I never"—an insane anger flared in the old man's eyes—"I never got my bounty. He was to have paid me a thousand dollars. A thousand dollars!" He repeated it as though the sum were beyond his computation. "After I came out I was going to set up in business. But the skunk never paid me."
"What did you do afterwards?"
"Nothing," said Daggett. "I was wounded here, and I stayed here after I got well, and hauled people round. Hauled people round!" He spoke as though the work were valueless, degrading.
"Why didn't you go into business?"
"I didn't have my thousand dollars," replied Daggett petulantly. "Didn't I tell you I didn't have my thousand dollars? The skunk never paid me."
The thought of the thousand dollars of which he had been cheated seemed to paralyze the old man. He told them no more stories; he drove silently past Stannard, high on his great shaft, Meade on his noble horse, fronting the west. He did not mention Stubborn Smith or gallant Armistead. Brant, now that he had settled with his friends some legislative appointments which he controlled, was ready to listen, and was angry at the old man's silence.