“A dozen—a score of times,” replied the captain. “Ah! here is our friend the governor. Why, he is dressed up as if he meant to ride part of the way with us.”
“Ah! captain! Well, my young Indian runner,” said the governor, laughing, “are you ready for another skirmish?”
“Yes, sir, I’m ready now,” said Bart promptly. “I can saddle up in five minutes.”
“I shall be ready at sunset,” said the captain. “My men are ready now.”
“I’ve made up my mind to go with you,” said the governor.
“You, sir?” cried Bart.
“Yes, my lad. I want to see the silver canyon and your mountain fortress. And besides, it seems to me that a brush with the Indians will do me good. I want them to have a severe lesson, for they are getting more daring in their encroachments every day. Can you make room for me?”
The captain expressed his delight, and Bart’s eyes flashed as he felt that it was one more well-armed, active, fighting man; and when evening came, after an affectionate farewell, and amidst plenty of cheers from the swarthy mob of idlers, the well-mounted little party rode out along the road leading to the plains, with the lancers’ accoutrements jingling, their lance-points gilded by the setting sun, and their black-and-yellow pennons fluttering in the pleasant evening breeze.
“At last,” said Bart to himself, as he reined up and drew aside to see the gallant little array pass. “Oh! if we can only get one good chance at the cowardly demons! They won’t hunt me now.”
And in imagination he saw himself riding in the line of horsemen, going at full speed for a body of bloodthirsty Indians, and driving them helter-skelter like chaff before a storm.