CHAPTER VI
RAYNES FINDS A PATRIOTIC ALLY
THE trail was broader here.
Some thirty feet from the rough road an old-time log cabin, well preserved, stood in a little grove of trees.
Before the door, on a backless chair, sat an old man, roughly clad in buckskin, who was dividing his time between talking to a dog and cleaning the old rifle that lay across his knees.
As the horses had had a hard pull, the wagon boss ordered a halt on this level stretch of trail.
Corporal Raynes, his head buzzing with half a dozen plans, leaped down from the wagon in his restored shoes. He sauntered slowly over to this old-time hunter.
"'Day, Pop," he greeted the old man.
"'Day," grunted the other. "You're a soger, I reckon?"