The officers emerged from General Clay’s tent. Captain Oliver was among them. He caught sight of Farley and, noting the woodman’s attitude and expression, walked up to him, saying:
“You appear excited, my friend. What’s the matter?”
The assembled militiamen grinned broadly; and the officers paused momentarily. But Joe kept his pale, watery eyes fixed upon the opening in the canvas wall and did not reply to the question. The Captain turned to Bright Wing with:
“What ails your comrade?”
“Ugh!” was the guttural response. “Joe him heap mad man. Him want fight much bad.”
At that moment a tall, broad-shouldered young man appeared in the doorway. At his side trotted a magnificent bloodhound.
“There he is—go fer him!” a mischievous militiaman whispered in Farley’s ear.
Joe clapped his eyes upon the figure emerging from the tent, and, with a hoarse, inarticulate cry, staggered back a few steps and covered his face with his hands.
Officers and men were astounded, and could only stand and stare. Bright Wing gave a grunt of surprise and satisfaction, and became a bronze statue. The hound ran forward and fawned at the feet of the two woodmen. Then the young man in the doorway shouted joyously:
“Joe Farley and Bright Wing!”