“Changed ain’t the word for it, sir. There’s something wrong with him. I ain’t a sooperstitious man as believes in fetches and warnings and that sort of thing, but if Bob Hanson gets something at our next set-to, I shouldn’t be much surprised.”
“I should,” said Dick shortly—“very much.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant respectfully, “you would be, I dessay; but, begging your pardon, sir, one thinks very differently when you’re one side o’ twenty to what you do when you’re the other side o’ two twenties.”
“Morning, Darrell.—Morning, Sergeant; you’re beginning to get a bit ship-shape,” said Wyatt, coming upon them suddenly.
“Yes, sir; soon be right now. Saves a lot of time having no tents to set up or strike. These’ll make better quarters than our old ones as soon as we’re shook down.”
“No doubt,” said Wyatt.—“Which way are you going, Darrell?”
“To the gate, and to have a stroll round. Come?”
For answer Wyatt walked with his young companion to the great gate, and then stopped short.
“Don’t go out yet, my lad,” he said quietly; “and when you do go, have some one with you, and carry your side-arms.”
“Think it’s necessary?” said Dick sharply, as he gave a wondering look at the very serious aspect of his companion.