Duke was the first to note the presence of his master; and, with a yelp of joy, sprang to meet him. Bright Wing uttered a guttural exclamation, which was smothered by Farley’s lusty shout:
“Ross Douglas—’r my name ain’t Joe Farley! Alive an’ a-livin’—but wetter’n a drownded mus’rat an’ lookin’ paler ’n a piller-case! Youngster, you’ve been in the dangedest scrimmage that ever was—anybody can see that. How in the name o’ all the purty women in the universe, did you ever git out o’ that yaller-jackets’ nest, an’ make y’r way here? Set down an’ tell us all ’bout it.”
Douglas dropped upon the ground and, affectionately patting Duke’s head, replied wearily:
“I’m thoroughly exhausted, Joe. Get me something to eat.”
“That’s it!” cried one of the soldiers. “Git y’r comrade somethin’ to eat, Limber Tongue. He’s ’bout played out.”
“Dang-it-all-to-dingnation!” grumbled Joe. “I never did have no sense! The idee o’ askin’ a man, who hain’t had a bite to eat sence last night at this time, to set down an’ spin yarns. I’ve a notion to pull my larripin’ tongue out by the roots—I have, by Molly! An’ you’ve got some scratches, too, Ross Douglas; an’ wher’ you ain’t pale, you’re blacker’n a nigger with powder smoke, an’ redder’n an Injin with blood. Set there an’ rest an’ dry y’r duds. I’ll have you somethin’ in a jiffy, that’ll make you feel better—I will, by ginger!”
Still muttering to himself, of his own shortcomings, Farley left the group around the fire. When he returned a few minutes later, he cried exultingly:
“A long an’ limber tongue may be a nuisance most o’ the time, but once in a while it comes mighty handy. Jest now mine helped me to p’rsuade Ol’ Tippecanoe to divide his supper with you, Ross Douglas——”
“What!” Douglas interrupted sternly. “Surely, Joe, you didn’t go to the commander and ask him for food for me.”