Then to the Wyandot:
“Injin, I say we’d better take the dog an’ go over there an’ look fer Ross Douglas.”
“Ugh!” assented Bright Wing, explosively.
At the same time he shouldered his gun, thus intimating that he was ready to start.
“Well,” Farley continued, “we’ll have to git a permit from somebody, I s’pose; that’s ’cordin’ to army rules. If we don’t, they may take a notion to shoot us fer deserters, ’r fer disobeyin’ orders ’r somethin’. I don’t know much ’bout such things—an’ I don’t want to. Howsomever, we’ll jest go to Ol’ Tippecanoe, like we done before, an’ git his p’rmission. Come on, le’s not waste a minute. It’s noon now.”
A few quick steps brought them to the entrance of the commander’s tent. The place was swarming with officers. Around the door was a noisy throng of excited subalterns and privates. Joe and Bright Wing elbowed their way through the mass and gained the doorway, Duke closely following them.
Just within, were two orderlies on guard. Without so much as a nod, Farley crowded between them.
“Stop! You can’t come in here,” one of the orderlies cried sternly, seizing the woodman by the arm.
“But I am in,” Farley replied, a broad grin puckering his cheeks.