"Well, Captain Norton," began Ayres in his dry precise manner, "Colonel Boone has told me of your mission in these parts, sir. I congratulate you heartily, sir, and I congratulate these United States upon having a public servant of your spirit——"
Norton smiled to himself. He began to think that Boone had made the best of a bad bargain by passing off the first person he had picked up as an assistant.
"What is your business, Mr. Ayres?" he inquired, wondering how best to get rid of the ruddy-cheeked little man.
"I am a schoolmaster, sir"; and as he spoke, Ayres settled back in his chair and pulled forth a pipe. "By the way, Mr. Norton, the man who shot at you this morning is a hunter from down-river. His name I do not know, but he wears a fox-skin cap with the brush hanging, dresses in buckskin like yourself, and wears a black beard."
Norton started.
"Are you jesting, sir? Do you know this man?"
"I do not." And Ayres fell to work with flint and steel, until he had a light for his pipe. "I saw him last week, and chanced to note the redstreaked powder-horn. When my friend Colonel Boone told me of it, I remembered. That is all. Ah—one point further—he was discussing some of our host's excellent Virginia whisky, in company with one Charles Duval, Gent., a fellow townsman of mine."
While Norton was still trying to assimilate the information imparted by this queer individual, the bell on the roof banged out its summons to dinner. Ayres arose with a grandiose bow.
"You will honour me, sir, by your company below? Then we can discuss matters at our leisure."
Norton swallowed hard, nodded, and followed to the door. He began to think that he had sadly misjudged Colonel Daniel Boone.