“Very well, Master Fred. I only tell you the truth; and if you find the lads aren’t so willing to follow you, mind, it’s that.”
“I have my duty to do, sir, so say no more.”
“What a nuisance dooty is,” said Samson to himself, as his young leader went slowly to the front, and rode for a time beside the leading file. “They’ll set him down as a coward. ’Course I know he isn’t, but they’ll think so. Ha, ha, ha!”
“What are you laughing at?” said the man on his right.
“At him,” cried Samson, pointing forward at his brother. “Looks just like a trussed turkey.”
“Ah,” said the man, quietly, “and who knows when it may be our turn to ride prisoners just the same? Knew him before, didn’t you?”
“Eh? knew him? Well, just a little,” said Samson, drily. “Come from the same part o’ Coombeland. Me and him’s had many a fight when we was boys.”
“And the young captain and that long-haired popinjay met before, haven’t they?”
“Often. I was gardener to our captain’s father—the colonel, you know; and that fellow with his headpiece on wrong was gardener to his father as hit our officer.”
“Took it pretty quiet, didn’t he?” said the man.