“Why, you didn’t fire on the Indians, did you, squire?” said the man.
“Lot o’ times,” said Pomp, quickly.
The man let his firelock go into the hollow of his left arm, and he shook my hand warmly, as Pomp stood staring over the fence into the darkness.
“I like that,” he said, as I felt very uncomfortable and shrinking. “But then I might have known it. Your father and Colonel Preston didn’t hit it very well together, but the colonel always said your father was a very brave officer, quiet as he seemed—and like father, like son. Feel chilly?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, it isn’t cold, but after being so hot all day it feels a bit different. Heigho! I shouldn’t at all mind having a good sleep. One gets tired of watching for nothing.”
“Sit down and have a sleep,” I said. “I’ll hold your gun and keep guard.”
“Will you, my lad?” he said, eagerly.
“Yes; I can’t sleep, and I’ll wake you directly if there is anything wrong.”
“Come, that’s friendly,” said the man. “I like that, and I’d give anything for an hour’s sleep. Catch hold; I’ll lie down here. You’ll be sure and call me?”