The countenance of Hayward underwent an instant change, as he replied:
“Not ill, but somewhat depressed in spirits, perhaps, in view of what a day may bring forth.”
“Oh! Harry,” she said, “I hear there is going to be another fight. Will you have to go into it and leave me?”
“Should there be a battle, I shall endeavor to protect you, dear sister.”
“But, you will be in danger; perhaps wounded—perhaps killed! Oh! what would I do, then? Don’t go, Harry!” and the gentle girl threw her arms around her brother’s neck and wept. After a moment, he raised her, and pressing his lips to her forehead, said:
“I wish to speak with these gentlemen a moment. Go to your friend Alibamo’s tent. I will come for you, soon!” The sister cast back a look of fond solicitude, and left the tent.
Hayward gazed after her a moment, muttering audibly:
“Poor child, what would you do if I should fall. You would indeed be alone!”
“Now, captain, I don’t think that’s half fair,” exclaimed the one spoken of as being the servant. “Do you think I am such a darn skunk as to—if you was killed—the darn—not to fight for my capt’n’s sister—the skunk—no, I mean, if you die—if she—darn me, if I don’t—I—I—” and the speaker, as if unable to express what he did mean, suddenly left the tent. All present smiled broadly, and good-humor was thus, for the moment, infused in all hearts.
“Nettleton had a sudden call!” said one.