Panama was keyed up to a high, exciting pitch of impatience. He had been pacing back and forth within the small inclosure of the tent since Lefty went forth upon his unhappy mission, now more than two hours ago.
Hearing a noise outside of the tent, he paused suddenly just as the flaps were pushed back and Lefty entered, bearing a troubled look upon his weary and tired face. Panama grinned apprehensively and ran to greet the boy, eagerly awaiting to learn the results of the expedition.
“What did she say?” he whispered, forcing down a nervous lump that rose in his throat.
“She’s outside,” the boy replied with hesitance. “She wants to talk to you!”
Too wrapped up in the belief that, at last, his fondest wishes had culminated in actual realization, Panama remained blind insofar as sensing the truth that lay behind Lefty’s apparent misery and troublesome expression. He bolted pass the boy and was out of the tent in a moment.
Once more alone, Phelps dropped down upon the edge of the cot in a forlorn manner, running his fingers through his hair for the want of something to relieve the tenseness that had gripped him.
Restless and worried, he rose again and paced back and forth with a nervous, uncertain step, waiting for the inevitable moment when he would again have to face the sergeant after the truth had been disclosed.
Following what seemed to be an hour, but was really no more than ten minutes, the flaps parted again and Williams entered, bearing a cold, unrelentless expression of cruelty, feeling very much like a man who had been betrayed by his dearest friend.
He faced the boy sternly. His thin, colorless lips were pressed tightly together and his eyes narrowed with growing rage.
Nervous and pleading, bearing a miserable look of unquestionable guilt, the boy began to explain the circumstances only to be cut short before a single word had passed his lips.