Joe dropped his hands to his side, and for a brief moment stood with mouth agape. Then with the cry—“It’s Ross Douglas hisself, alive an’ a-livin’”—he sprang forward and threw his long, bony arms around his friend’s neck.
Bright Wing grinned broadly and muttered:
“Dog Duke alive and here; Fleet Foot alive and here. Joe heap sight big fool. Ugh!”
Duke capered about in mad delight, baying and whining by turns. Ross and Joe held each other at arm’s length and looked long and earnestly into each other’s eyes. Tears were raining down their cheeks, and their lips were trembling.
An oppressive silence rested upon the little knot of soldiers who were watching the drama enacting before them. Of a sudden a militiaman broke the spell by shouting:
“Well, if that don’t beat all the ways to lick a man, I’m a numbskull!”
With shouts of laughter, the crowd gradually dispersed. Douglas tore himself from Farley’s grasp and, flying to Bright Wing, warmly embraced him. In return the Wyandot gave his friend a bear-like hug. Joe stood blubbering and wiping his weak eyes. For once in his life the power of speech had deserted him. Drawing the two together, Douglas said with deep emotion:
“God knows how glad I am to meet you again—to find you alive and well! I’ve mourned you as dead.”
Farley suddenly found his voice and replied:
“An’ maybe we ain’t glad to see you, Ross! We not only thought you was dead—we knowed you was. We seen you dyin’—we left you fer dead. An’ dang-it-all-to-dingnation! Hang-it-up-an’-take-it-down-an’-cook-it! I can’t hardly believe my senses. Where’ve you been—how did you come to life? Tell me all about it right now—don’t wait a minute. By King Solerman’s six hundred wives! I never was as happy in my born days!”