“Colonel, that little squaw princess detained me unwarrantably, but you know a Kentuckian must obey the ladies. There are a lot of gray-headed old gentlemen coming up the street, and I think they look like a deputation.”
Clark looked at the boy severely. Somehow he didn’t like the familiar way in which the latter spoke of Ruby.
“Young gentleman,” he said, “when you have more sense, you will esteem it an honor to wait on a lady, especially one so beautiful and modest as mademoiselle. Speak of her with proper respect, sir. She is no squaw.”
“I cry you mercy, colonel,” quoth the saucy lad. “I forgot that you had just seen her. You know you told me once you would not know her again. How is it now?”
“I should know her among a million,” said Clark, warmly.
The little adjutant burst out laughing, in defiance of all military etiquette.
“’Gad, gentlemen, I fear the colonel’s smitten to the heart,” he cried. “The invulnerable colonel’s fallen in love with this dusky princess; and he’s ready to cut any man’s throat that says a word against her.”
The other officers, rough backwoodsmen all, save Bowman and Montgomery, used only to republican equality, made no scruple of joining in the laugh. Clark turned white with anger, and his voice was deep with concentrated rage, as he said:
“Adjutant Frank, go to your quarters under arrest. Gentlemen, the man that persists in this unseemly merriment becomes my enemy at any hazard. Do I command this expedition or not?”
In a moment there was a dead silence, broken only by Frank. Contrary to his usual custom, the boy seemed possessed with a perfect devil of impudence that day.