“Go out instantly!” blustered the orderly, as he whirled the intruder around and shoved him toward the door.
Farley’s ire rose rapidly—reached fever heat in an instant.
“Take y’r hands off o’ me, an’ git out o’ my road, ’r I’ll break ev’ry bone in y’r slim, little body!” he growled savagely.
The other orderly came to his comrade’s assistance. The two threw themselves upon the angular giant and sought to eject him from the place. Bright Wing’s hand flew to the heavy hatchet in his belt—a weapon he had picked up since his arrival at the fort. Duke crouched for a spring and growled sullenly. But Farley needed no help. His heavy fist shot out; and one of the soldiers dropped to the ground. Quickly turning upon the other and catching him by the collar, Joe threw him half-way across the tent. Then the enraged woodman bellowed hoarsely:
“Take that, you cowardly, little whippersnappers! Jump onto a feller, two at a time, will you? I’ll learn you better manners—I will, by the Queen o’ Sheby! Come on ag’in, if you want to—I can trounce a dozen like you! I come in here to see Ol’ Tippecanoe; an’ I’m a-goin’ to see him, ’r die a-tryin’. If you two whinin’ babies gits in my road ag’in, I’ll pin back y’r ears an’ swaller you—I will, by Mary Magdalene!”
“What’s the matter there?” rang out in clear, even tones.
And General Harrison, rising to his feet, looked toward the scene of disturbance.
“These men have forced their way in here, and we are trying to put them out,” explained one of the orderlies, who stood brushing his soiled uniform and feelingly rubbing his bruised face.
“Who are they?” the commander impatiently inquired.