The cook came out and advanced to meet the new arrivals, having been attracted from his kettles and pans by the view-halloo they sent down from the hilltop.
“Colonel left word to lock him in the wangan,” reported the cook, rolling his bare arms more tightly in his dingy apron.
“Where is the colonel?” asked Connick.
“He's out at the log landin'. Be in at supper-time, so he said.” The cook eyed the captive with curiosity not unmixed with commiseration. “Has he been takin' on much?” he inquired of one of the men.
“Nope. Stiff upper lip—an' he licked Dan,” the man added, behind his palm.
“Sho!” the cook ejaculated, looking on Parker with new interest. “Ain't he worried by thinkin' of the colonel?”
“Naw-w! Says he'll eat him raw!” fabricated the men, enjoying the cook's amazement. “Says he's glad to come up here. Been hankerin' to get at Ward, he says.”
“Wal, you don't say!” The cook surveyed Parker from head to foot with critical inspection. This scrutiny annoyed the young man at last.
“Do I owe you anything?” He snapped.
“Heh—wal—blorh-h—wal, I hope ye don't!” spluttered the cook, retreating. “Land, ain't he a savage one?” he gasped, as he hastened back into his realm of pots. He transferred his news to the amazed cookee.