His stolid face bore not the least sign of excitement or surprise, although the first words he uttered showed that he had heard the signals of distress, and that he had returned to camp in answer to them.
“Now,” said he, “I’d like to know what you fellows were blowin’ them horns fur?”
“Sandy,” exclaimed Duke, “if you have any get up at all about you, show it now. Don’t ask any questions, but bring those horses over here at once.”
Sandy stopped, laid his squirrels carefully at the root of a tree, and pulling off his hat, ran his fingers through his fiery locks. He looked all about the camp, then across the bayou at us, surveying us from head to foot as though he had never seen us before, and when his gaze rested on me, he drawled out:
“Joe, ain’t this a mighty cold day to go in a-swimmin’?”
“Sandy,” shouted Duke—and he could not help throwing a little impatience into his tones—“Luke Redman has just gone by here, mounted on Black Bess, and carrying General Mason’s valise tied fast to his saddle. We want to follow him up and catch him. Now will you bring those horses over here?”
Sandy did not exhibit the least astonishment at hearing this piece of news. He dropped the butt of his gun to the ground, and leaning on the muzzle of the weapon, said:
“Now I’ll just tell you what’s the matter. Whar’s he bin hid all the time that we’ve been lookin’ fur him?”
“How do you suppose we know? Bring those horses over here.”
Sandy slung his gun over his shoulder, moved slowly toward the tree to which his horse was tied, and with his usual deliberation, prepared to mount. He placed his foot in the stirrup, but immediately took it out again.