“To take command, you say,” repeated the veteran borderer, as if still unable to believe his ears. “Hm! that makes Van Alstyne second fiddle.”
“Are you sorry?” asked Clark, with a sardonic smile.
“Oh, I kin skeercely stand it,” grinned Bill. “I’m cut plumb to the heart.”
“I reckoned you would be,” guffawed the officer, as he resumed his walk across the bridge.
“Must be good news, Bill,” guessed Tom Gordon, when Brown had rejoined the boys. “You have a satisfied look on your face, like a tabby-cat that’s just swallowed a canary.”
“Thunderin’ good news, younkers!” exulted Bill. “Major William Whistler, a vet’ran border man, who understands the Injuns an’ ther ways, got here last night to take command o’ the fort.”
“No?” chorused the boys.
“Yep, come up the Great Lakes from Fort Niagara with a fresh batch o’ sojurs.”
“Does that mean that we won’t have to talk with old gas-bag Van Alstyne, after all?” put in Ben, with a sigh of relief.
“Yep, boys, it’s Major Whistler now; an’ praise be fer that.”