“Halt! you kurn’t pass here, mounseer. Colonel’s quarters.”
“But if I wish to see the colonel, my friend,” said a mild voice, “can not I go in? I am the parish priest, father Gibault.”
“Kurn’t help it,” said the sentry, sturdily. “My orders is to let no one pass. Sergeant give me a shakin’ up about lettin’ in them ’ere Injins, jest now.”
“But my dear friend,” said the priest, mildly, “I do but wish to ask permission to wait on the commander, with five of the oldest inhabitants of the town, to represent to him our cruel position.”
Clark, who had been listening intently to this dialogue, now spoke to the sentry at his own door.
“Sentry, is the adjutant outside? Call him in.”
“Please, colonel, the adjutant bean’t hyar,” said the man.
“Not here,” said Clark, surprised. “Why I saw him at the door. Where is he?”
Ruby Roland answered him:
“Your adjutant is a great friend of mine, colonel, and has gone on a message for me. In his absence, allow me to act for him, as I am responsible for his reappearance. What do you wish done?”