“Come with me, Samson; I’m going up to my father’s quarters. I’ll see that you have plenty to eat, if there is anything.”
“Who’d be without a good master?” muttered Samson; and then aloud, “Here he comes.”
For Colonel Forrester came cantering up.
“Alive and well, Samson? Good lad! We couldn’t spare you. Fred, my boy, news has come in that a little party of the enemy has taken shelter in the woodland yonder over the hill. Take a dozen men, surround them, and bring them in. Don’t let one of them escape. Turned back by one of the regiments crossing their path as they were in retreat. Now, then, to horse and away!”
Burning with excitement, Fred forgot all his weariness, buckled his horse’s bit, mounted, and turned to select his men, when he found Samson already mounted, and at his elbow.
“Here, what do you want, sir?” he cried.
“What do I want, Master Fred? Why, to go with you.”
“Nonsense! You are fagged out. Go and rest, and your horse too.”
“Now, I do call that likely, Master Fred. Let you go without me. I should just think not.”
“But this is nonsense, Samson. I want fresh men.”