Instantly the mountaineer's gun went to his shoulder. His aim was at the General's breast. "Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he said, and the hammer clicked. The General smiled grimly.
"Get up," he said. "I had no right to make that threat. You are a private citizen. You came of your own accord. You are under Lincoln only. Get up! Can we trust this man, damn him?"
Griffith staggered to his feet. The storm had left him weak and pale. The mountaineer dismounted and stood beside him.
"You mean to take my place in good faith—to lead them right—I know, Lengthy; but tell him so for me," Griffith asked, in a tired voice, taking the swarthy hand in his. "You will do your best as a guide in my place, won't you?"
Lengthy's response was unequivocal. "I will," he said in his monotonous tone, and somehow, as they stood hand in hand with the curious group of men about them, the reply reminded every one of the response in the marriage service, and a smile ran around as the men glanced at each other.
"You promise to do all in your knowledge and power to enable them to get accurate knowledge and make their maps, don't you, Lengthy?"
"I do."
The similitude struck even the commander, and when Griffith turned, the irascible General was trying to cover a smile.
"Are you satisfied, General? I will stake my life on both his capacity to do it—even better than I—and on his honor when he promises to do it for me. Are you satisfied?"
"Have to be satisfied, I guess. Mount! March!"