“No,” replied Morris, “but I'm hyar fer him, I guess—an' about two hundred more ef I'm not enough,” he added drily, waving his hand towards the woods.
With a half-turn in his saddle and a glance at the line of trees on his flank, General Custer took in the situation. Clearly there was nothing to do but to retreat, with some show of dignity.
“Where shall I find Mr. Conklin? I wish to speak to him.”
“I'll guide you,” was Morris's answer, “ef you'll come alone; he mightn't fancy so many visitors to onc't.”
As Morris and Bancroft climbed over the fence and led the way towards the homestead, some of the armed farmers strolled from behind the stocks into the open, and others showed themselves carelessly among the trees on the bank of the creek. When the Elder was informed that General Custer was at the front door, he laid down his axe, and in his shirtsleeves went to meet him.
“Mr. Conklin, I believe?”
“That's my name, General.”
“You've resisted United States troops with arms, and now, it seems, you've got up a rebellion.”
“I guess not, General; I guess not. I was Union all through the war; I came hyar as an Abolitionist. I only want to keep my fences up as long as they'll stand, an' cut my corn in peace.”
“Well,” General Custer resumed, after a pause, “I must send to Washington for instructions and state the facts as I know them, but if the Federal authorities tell me to carry out the law, as I've no doubt they will, I shall be compelled to do so, and resistance on your part can only cause useless bloodshed.”