“A mere boy, not sixteen, and small for his age,” said Clark, not without confusion. “But you must not fancy I am jealous of him, father—a little whipper-snapper, whom I could turn over my knee. No, sir; but you have no conception of the insolence with which he referred to mademoiselle. It was for that I placed him under arrest, and he kept talking back, with a manner perfectly indescribable. By heavens, sir, I wonder I did not kill him on the spot.”
Father Gibault smiled.
“I do not think you need be afraid of this boy, monsieur, unless, indeed, you make a martyr of him. I would advise you to follow mademoiselle’s hint, as a friend, not as a priest.”
“I’ll do it, father,” said the Kentuckian, promptly. “Here, orderly, go to the arsenal where the Indian chiefs lodge, and say to Adjutant Frank, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.”
The orderly left, and the commander paced up and down the room impatiently, waiting for the arrival of the culprit adjutant.
CHAPTER XX.
MUTINY.
In a short time after, the orderly rapped at the door, and on being told to enter, announced:
“Please, colonel, the adjutant says as how he wants to know ef he’s released from arrest?”
“Did he dare to ask you that?” inquired Clark, sharply; and as he spoke his eye flashed.