“Where shall I find Captain Bowman, the commandant, sir?”
Harrod looked down, half-contemptuously, at this tiny officer, whose head about reached his breast, and answered with a question:
“And what the Old Nick do you want of Joe Bowman, bubby? He ain’t used to suckin’ ’lasses candy.”
The little officer laughed merrily, without seeming in the least abashed.
“I see, you’re not Bowman, my man, for I was told he was a gentleman. Captain Kenton, where is Bowman?”
Kenton started.
“Why, how the Old Scratch do you know my name, sonny? I disremember ever seeing you before.”
“I am Colonel Clark’s adjutant, gentlemen,” said Frank, pulling up with considerable dignity, notwithstanding his small size. “If you’ve no civil answer to give me, I’ll go elsewhere! I carry orders!”
“Captain Bowman is down in camp, with Captain Dillard, sir,” said Daniel Boone, suddenly stepping forward and saluting the other with respect. “Don’t mind these rough fellows, adjutant; it’s their Kentucky way, and they mean no harm. I’ll go to the camp with you.”