Scarcely slacking his pace, Douglas replied briefly: “I was at the blockhouse and at General Harrison’s quarters. Duke told you the truth.”
“You was!” Joe ejaculated. “Well, dang my skin if the dog didn’t know more’n a couple o’ human critters—he did, by Tabithy! Purp, I beg y’r pardon. But where’re you goin’ now, Ross?”
“To the English camp.”
“I’ve heerd it said,” Farley grumbled, “that the burnt child dreaded the fire; but you seem to be an ’xception to the rule. Ross Douglas, what in the name o’ goodness ’re you goin’ over there fer? Oh, I’m an ol’ fool! I might ’ave knowed. You’re goin’ over to git that little red-headed gal, of course——”
He suddenly stopped speaking. His watery eyes bulged; his jaw dropped. He had caught a square look at Ross’s companion.
“W’y, dang—it—all—to—dingnation!” he mumbled. “If that ain’t the scar-faced scout that was with Gener’l Harrison, at Tippecanoe, it’s his ghost. An’ he looks more like a ghost ’n a mortal man—he does, by cracky!”
“Ugh! Scar Face—much sick, sight lean,” Bright Wing grunted.
Ross made no reply; John Douglas did not glance around, even. By this time, the squad of soldiers had reached the gate and were passing through. Father and son hastened to overtake them. Farley and his companion kept close upon the heels of those in advance; and with them left the fortification. Ross thought his comrades had stopped within the walls—and felt relieved. He did not notice their presence, until he stood at the water’s edge.
“What are you doing here, Joe?” he demanded sharply.